Inevitable Predictability
by schaferdramaqueen
Summary: Felicity/Ben. Years after the series ends, when she's old enough to court, Ben returns. But the struggle for independence isn't over. Why is he back? And why is he looking at Felicity like that?
1. Letters From Home

Letters From Home

She had, in her eleven-year-old stubbornness, insisted upon writing the first letter to Ben all herself. Surprisingly, it had evoked an argument not with her father—he was quite approving of the idea—but with her mother, who upheld the notion that Felicity's script was too blotchy and uncertain for a letter. Felicity announced the beginnings of the battle for adulthood by throwing a small tantrum; it would have ruined the matter had she not gone back, shame-faced, and presented an apology and her position quietly and reasonably.

The entire family had gathered around her as she sat at the dining-room table, quill and ink and paper laid out with solemn precision before her. When she finally began to write, they were a-clamor with ideas and news and stories they wanted her to put in, and she did her best to accommodate them all, though several times she had to beg a pause and exercise her wrist. Mr. Merriman, after dictating a few well-chosen comments at the bottom, had taken the letter, folded it, and sealed it with red wax, and if there _had_ been a blot or two, or a smudge, then no one was the wiser.

It had not been a good letter. Poorly worded and juvenile, it was quite clearly written by someone who had spent more time outside then practicing her penmanship or phrasing and yet— it managed to get across the spirit of the busy home, and of the writer.

And when Ben's first letter to them arrived, and Felicity's father presented it to her saying that "as she wrote the last one, she should have the honor of opening this one," a tradition was born.

Upon receiving one of Ben's letters Felicity would immediately cut it open and read it aloud to the rest of the family. As the years passed and she spent more time doing chores and duties, she would often receive the letter before the family was together, and so would read it first to herself before gathering the others—her mother, she knew, would not mind, and Mr. Merriman had told his family not to wait for him to get home should he be out at the time.

Then she would rush off to pen her response. She never wrote any part of her letter down beforehand, no scraps or snippets, though she'd often make a mental note to tell Ben about something she had seen. After the first attempt (which even she admitted was disastrous) Felicity applied herself to bettering her writing skills, and grew to be quite proficient. More time practicing with her pen meant more time sitting quietly, and though she often took her ink and book outdoors, the new arrangement allowed her mother and Miss Manderly to more easily teach her, for she was around more often and more used to keeping still. She never did become quite as good as Elizabeth at embroidery; but Elizabeth seemed to have the same divine intuitiveness about needle and thread as Felicity had training Patriot.

In this way she and Ben developed an odd sort of close-far-away relationship. They were both very removed from the other's daily life, but they also both had first-hand access to the thoughts and feelings of the other by way of the letters. Ben could observe Felicity's writing improve, her thinking expand; she could see how he adjusted and re-adjusted his principals as the war continued.

They were a comfort to each other, however indirectly. When Ben mentioned that he had been having "an interesting time of it" and then spent paragraphs describing a leaf he had found in his bedroll, Felicity saw the diversion and wrote him back a funny story of Polly's first riding lesson. When Elias Danner had kissed Felicity behind the milliner's, and three days later she saw him walking with Lydia Henning, Ben recognized the stiff formality of concealed hurt and sent her three pages of thoughtful rumination which were unfortunately never delivered. The letters could not possibly get to the other whenever the crisis was happening; but still, there was a thin comfort in the idea that there would be somebody, somewhere, who would listen to that which was unsaid and sympathize.

Sometimes Felicity would rephrase or cut out entirely a portion of one of Ben's stories when she felt it was too confusing or frightening for her siblings (especially Polly), though of course her parents read the letter after she was finished, and learned all of it.

And again, the wheel turns; through what Felicity omitted from her recitation, not only did she learn more of the world but her parents began to see how much she was maturing. They began to make the shift between treating her as a child and treating her as an adult. In a way, her mother and father were grateful for the times she arrived at home late and with a skinned elbow or knotted hair, for, as parents do, they would sometimes become wistful of their childish Lissie-heap of fire and heart.

She still had the fire, but had learned to tame it somewhat, to release it at her command and not have it go raging out of her unchecked. The heart, no amount of time or training could subdue.


	2. In Which Nan Becomes Excited

**Ages: Felicity-16 Ben-23 Nan-13 William-9 (to turn 10 this winter) Polly-5 (to turn 6 this winter) **

In Which Nan Becomes Excited

**October 1781**

"Lissie!"

Felicity Merriman stepped out onto the front step, squinting into the sun. The day was hot and stuffy, though the mornings had begun to carry the crisp October chill; in any case, the kitchen was boiling, and Felicity was glad Nan had provided an excuse to leave it.

"Lissie!" Nan's voice hurried towards her sister, far outpacing her small, proper steps. "You'll never guess who—" yet unused to her new height, Nan skidded on one of the looser cobblestones and tripped headlong into Felicity, arms flailing. "Oh!"

"Calm down, Nan." _Fancy__** me**__ telling __**Nan**__ to calm down! _"Goodness, I've never seen you in such a state since William dropped all the sugar for the Christmas cake!"

Nan pouted. "Lissie, I needed that sugar. Besides, I wasn't in a _state. _I was perfectly ladylike except for that rotten stone, I've told Marcus he should get them fixed, I don't— "

Trying to conceal her impatience, Felicity gently touched Nan's arm to bring her back to the point. "You have news?"

"Oh! Yes." With an air of a grandmother goose settling down for a long gossip, Nan crossed her wrists before her stomach. "Well you know how _awful_ it's been, for the soldiers, or anyone, traveling, what with the roads all tore up and such—"

Felicity stifled a sigh. "Nan."

"Yes, yes, and we'd never expected him back so soon, I'm not sure Father expected him back at all, but he's coming up the road _right now _and I didn't recognize him at first, I'd near—"

"_Who_, Nan, who?"

"Why back from the militia, Ben, of course! And you've gotten flour all over my gown;" but Felicity had ceased listening.

_Ben!_

"Felicity?"

Slowly, hardly daring to believe it, she turned her head towards the sound of her name. A tall, slender young man stood leaning uncomfortably against the open gate, his coat faded and patched; he looked nothing like the apprentice she remembered, and she was about to frown at Nan for teasing her, when he took a step forward and held up a hand in a familiar gesture.

"Felicity!" he repeated.

His voice was deeper, almost rougher, as if someone had worn away at the edges of it. But there was no doubt that this was indeed Ben, magically appeared after five years sight unseen and six months no letters coming and goodness but wasn't the house a mess!

"Oh, 'tis wonderful to see you, Ben!" she cried, and flung her arms around him, before she could do more than register her surprise; not think, or listen, or ask him anything. Ben, here now! If it weren't for the cool metal buttons pressing into her cheek, she would call him a ghost.

"Now there's flour all over_ him_, too!" called Nan, feeling forgotten from the porch. "That's a fine way to treat Ben when he's just come home!"

Raising a brow at her sister, Felicity nonetheless stepped back and held Ben at arm's length. Nan was right—his coat and vest were streaked with white powder, and he had frozen with his mouth open. Felicity pursed her lips in disapproval. He was much too thin.

He seemed stunned. "I…would have expected you to be married off by now, Felicity. I mean," as her mouth turned down, "I'm sorry, I'm a bit . . . is your father in?" He clasped his hands behind his back. 

She wanted to ask him what he meant by telling her she should be wed, but she knew that it would be terribly bad manners. "Not yet, Ben. He's just returned two days ago, and so he's catching up at the store. But do come in, you must be dreadfully thirsty." Belatedly wiping her palms clean on her apron, she motioned for him to enter through the door she had just exited.

"Thank you very much; naturally, you have the right of it. I'm parched." A lightning-flash grin took the awkwardness out of the situation and Felicity felt her shoulders unknot, following him into the humid kitchen.

"You'll have to pardon me, I'm afraid," she warned, placing a cupful of water on the table before him. "I've got a stew on, and if I don't watch it, it will surely burn." She spared a glance for the dough she had been mixing, and dismissed it as not of paramount concern.

Ben nodded his thanks and gulped down the water, then leaned back against the wall. "You, in the kitchen, worrying over a stew? Now this surely is a marvel. Do I have the correct house?" His eyes danced merrily, and Felicity's lips twitched up into a smile.

"I've missed you, Ben."

"And I you, Miss Felicity." Something in his tone made her stop and turn back to him. He was studying her with an odd expression on his face.

"Missing Miss Felicity," he said, laughing, and the moment was broken.

"Missing Miss Felicity Missed," she replied with a giggle of her own. "Missing Miss Felicity Missed Missing Miss Felicity."

"Missed." And then suddenly they were both howling, he thumping the table, she clutching the stirring spoon so tightly it left ridges in her palm. At last Ben managed to regain a modicum of control over himself, tears of mirth streaming down his face. "That…that wasn't even really that funny," he managed.

"Something about it was dreadfully amiss," said Felicity, and off they went again.

"What is this madness in my household?" Cloak in hand, Mr. Merriman appeared at the door leading to the rest of the house. "I come home after ten hour good work and am met with a pair of wild hyenas upon my return! Out I tell you, out if you will not be grateful!" 

"But father, then this nice stew I've been making for your supper will burn!" Felicity's stomach hurt, she was laughing so.

"Well then, I suppose I'll have to let you stay. Hullo, Ben," he said, raising a hand to the other person in the room. "I'd heard you'd come back. I see you've found my daughter— a bit later than the rest of the lads in the town, to be sure, but we can't all be quick."

"Father!" Blushing to the roots of her hair, Felicity took a deep breath in an effort to compose herself. To her horror, it not only failed in quelling the guffaws but served to add another unwanted embarrassment; before she could stop it, an enormous hiccup leapt out of her throat.

Bright red, hiccupping helplessly, still weakly chuckling and clutching the edge of the counter for support, Felicity knew she was an absolute spectacle. Out the corner of her eye she saw Ben and her father studiously avoiding catching one another's gaze.

"Ben?" Mr. Merriman gestured to the interior of the house. "If you're quite recovered, I have some matters I would discuss with you."

Felicity saw his grin wipe away, easy as a cloth over a spot on the window. "Aye, sir," he said, getting up. As he passed Felicity on his way out, however, she could not resist whispering another, "Missing!" just so he could hear.


	3. Burned Stew and Chocolate Cup

**Next chapter…woo?**

Burned Stew and Chocolate Cup

Felicity scraped the last of the stew into a bowl, wrinkling her nose in distaste. It _was _rather black at the bottom. She knew she ought to eat the burned bit, and that it would be a waste anywhere else, but she was not looking forward to it. _'Tis my own fault for getting distracted, _she thought ruefully. _I don't know how mother manages to cook and talk at the same time. _

Still, there were much worse things than an overdone dinner, and she wasn't terribly hungry today, anyway. Handing trays of ale and bread to Rose, she stood back and studied the bowls. After a moment of hesitation, she poured some of Polly's stew into Ben's; Polly ate like a bird, and wouldn't notice.

When she turned around, carefully balancing the bowls, it was to see Rose smiling at her.

"He's just come back," she explained, somehow feeling she ought to, "and he needs the extra." Was that so strange?

"That he does, miss," said Rose, and Felicity was convinced that she had imagined the smile.

Father, Ben, and William were already sitting at the table. From his gestures and William's awed expression, it seemed that Ben was telling a story. Felicity's insides went cold contemplating what about; she did not like to consider Ben in the middle of a war.

_Aren't we all in the middle of a war?_

"Supper!" she sang out, and they all looked up. Father's face lit up. "'Tis good to hear! Come, Ben, you must be near starved. Let us see it our Lissie has managed to create anything edible."

"_I'm _hungry!" said William, and as if to prove his point, his stomach rumbled loudly. With a grin, Felicity set the first bowl in front of him. "There, since you're the growing boy—"

"I'm not a boy! Mother says I'm the man of the house when father's gone." He waved his spoon in the air.

"But father's here, now," she said, serving Mr. Merriman. "So that makes you the dutiful son again."

"Oh." William ducked his head. "Well…

"Ah, don't listen to this old girl." Ben winked at her. "She's behind the times. Why, anyone can see that you're quite grown up." He clapped William on the shoulder, nodding wisely.

"If I'm an old girl, then you're a grandfather," retorted Felicity, now giving Ben _his _supper. "Your cane is in the other room, sir; shall I fetch it for you?"

"Only if you get your shawl, also. 'Tis too chilly for creaking bones." Dodging the good-natured elbow she aimed at his side, he turned to his stew. "This smells wonderful."

"I should certainly hope so; Lissie's been at it all afternoon. Ben!" Mrs. Merriman appeared in the doorway, flanked by Nan and Polly. She stepped forward and embraced Ben when he stood up. "I'm glad you're well." Nan curtsied prettily.

"Not _all_ afternoon," Felicity confessed as they all sat down. "I may have been putting it off- just a little bit."

"For reading?" asked Nan.

"Yes, and for the apples."

Polly bounced in her chair. "And the flowers! And to see Penny, and to get a drink, and—"

"Well, the supper is made, and that's what's important."

Mrs. Merriman glanced sideways at the blackened mess in Felicity's bowl. Felicity blushed. _If I keep this up, my skin will be dyed a permanent shade of embarrassment._

As they ate, the conversation turned, predictably enough, back to Ben's adventures. He entertained them with tales of funny antics his fellow soldiers and himself had gotten into, scoldings and daring escapes. It was with great reverence that he spoke of a General Nathanael Greene, whom he had met at Valley Forge and then later served in the campaign for the South.

When William eagerly asked him to describe Valley Forge, he mentioned only that they sang, and requested that the family and himself then sing; between their voices, Felicity's guitar and Mrs. Merriman's spinet, the subject was dropped, though Felicity did not miss the sudden blankness in Ben's eyes.

_He is hurt in ways I cannot know._

It was some time after the dishes had been cleared and the family retired to the sitting room that she slipped out of the front door, holding a cup of chocolate. From his seat on the step, Ben lifted his head and smiled faintly.

"Hullo, Lissie." He accepted the cup with a word of thanks and motioned for her to sit beside him.

"'Tis a curious thing to come home to a place after so long away," he observed. Passing a hand over his forehead, he turned his gaze to the street once again.

Felicity settled her skirts around her. "How curious?"

"Because one expects the place to be the same as one left it, and it is…changed."

Felicity frowned.

Ben looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Tonight, for example. I know, 'twas only supper, but I recall that your mother always liked somewhat of a ceremony. However simple."

She shrugged, and then winced— she was forever being told it was unladylike. "We're not all at home, all the time. It seemed…silly to wait, when I or Nan or Mother might be late, and Father miles away. I am sorry if it upset you."

"Nay," he said, "I am happy to see you all again, and that pushes aside any sadness. 'Tis only . . . peculiar." He traced a frayed cuff with his finger. "I'm sure I'll be perfectly fine once I'm back at the store."

Felicity's heart sank. She doubted that he would be so pleased. Casting around for something to distract him, she happened upon a trail of ants scurrying up the steps from the edge of the grass. She nudged him. "Look."

With a fleeting smirk at the tactic, Ben complied. "Yes?"

"I've always liked ants," explained Felicity. "They're so strong. And they don't let anything stop them. Nan can't stand them, but I rather admire them."

Finding a twig on the ground, Ben placed it in the middle of the thin procession and lifted a single ant up to eye level. He kept the twig turning so that the little creature didn't fall off as it scrambled around and around.

"They're a bit like soldiers. They don't know exactly how they figure into the grand plan; but they do their jobs anyway. Even if it means their death." He sighed and set the twig down carefully. "I'm sorry, Lissie. I'm in no state for proper conversation."

"'Tis all right," she said softly. "You back, and safe, is all we want." After a pause, she added, "But why do you call this home? I am glad of it, but what of your family in Yorktown? I know you have brothers."

"Two. And a younger sister." He tilted his head towards her. "You used to remind me of her."

"I don't anymore?"

Ben smiled again, but continued without answering the question. "I visited them before I came here, and 'twas wonderful, but my life with them had been that of a child." Flexing his fingers, he wove them together, as if frustrated he couldn't express what he wanted to. "It was here in Williamsburg that I began to be an adult. Here has become what I think of as home. Even if it is different."

Felicity stroked one of the stripes around the hem of her gown. "You, too, are different."

"Aye." The emptiness had come back into his voice.

"A far too weighty subject for the eve of your return." Placing a hand on the crook of his elbow, Felicity shifted herself so that she was facing him. "I've put our best chocolate into that cup; you had better drink it, Ben Davidson, or I shall never forgive you." She busied herself with forcing the cup to his mouth and pretended not to see the wave of gratitude that washed over his features.

Polly, sitting on a stool by the fire, had been watching this scene through the open door with a mixture of fascination and confusion. She tugged at her mother's sleeve. "Who's that man, mother?"

Not glancing up from her stitching, Mrs. Merriman replied: "Ben, dear. He used to be your father's apprentice."

"Is he Lissie's husband?"

Shaking her head at the childish query, Mrs. Merriman spared a glance for the two, bent together on the front step. They spoke in words only they could hear, foreheads almost touching, "No, dear. They're the best of friends, but no more."

"Oh," said Polly, losing interest. "Mother, how come the stars only come out at night? Are they sleeping the rest of the day? Or—"

Out beneath the velvet sky, Ben put his hand over Felicity's and told her of a bluebird and a cat that reached the moon.


	4. The More Things Change

The More Things Change

She didn't know why she woke, for it was still dark, the folds of her curtains heavy with charcoal shadows. No early bird chattered at her window, no frozen draft crept under her blanket; and yet she felt quite as startled alert as if someone had shouted.

After a moment or two attempting to make herself relax, Felicity gave in and padded over to the vanity, sinking down into the small wooden chair. Despite the restlessness of her mind, her legs wobbled and dragged most tiredly.

Ben had certainly changed since she'd seen him last. He seemed so much taller, though she knew he couldn't have grown all that much, and if anything they were closer in height now. No, it was that he held himself straighter. Less . . . less like an apprentice, and more like a man.

That wasn't the real difference, though. 'Twas more of a sense she got, when she'd looked at him, that something had been replaced. The stubborn, headstrong boy that had been her friend had been swallowed up by this dead-eyed soldier, masquerading about in Ben's clothes.

_Now, Lissie, he's been back but half a day, _she chided, trying not to jump to conclusions. Another one of her faults that mother was always remonstrating her for. She sighed. She'd not anticipated how, how _altered _a person would be after five years away.

_And 'tis not like you're exactly the same, is it, Lissie? _There was not enough light for her to see her reflection, but she looked up to where it would be and touched a hand to her cheek. _I wonder how I seem to him?_

Painfully realizing that she never would have thought to ponder such things when she was eleven, Felicity yawned and stretched her arms high over her head. There was no chance of her going back to sleep this night, not for a while anyway. She might as well take the time to do something more useful than trying to puzzle out Ben.

And she'd have to do something about making him shave off that scrawny little beard of his. It looked utterly ridiculous.

* * *

"Come, lad, it's not as if the store's going anywhere!" Mr. Merriman chuckled at his apprentice's impatient hopping from foot to foot, a strange sort of puppy-like jog. He half expected the boy to start barking.

"Sorry, sir," Ben said, grinning. "I can't seem to keep still. It's been such a long time since I've seen everything!"

"Well, don't get your hopes up," cautioned Mr. Merriman. "Remember, these _are _scarce times we live in. It won't be precisely as you remember it."

"I don't mind, sir. 'Twill be a welcome sight, all the same. Who are we waiting for?"

Nodding, though he wasn't sure Ben's reaction would entirely live up to his expectations, Mr. Merriman indicated the staircase. "Lissie. She insisted. I think we'll have to leave without her, however, if she doesn't hurry. Lissie!" this last was a shout. "Where's my pretty girl?"

"Coming, father!" Felicity scurried down the steps, taking them two at a time (Ben was rather impressed at this, considering her petticoats), and jumped to a stop beside the men. She hadn't returned to bed until the hour before sunrise, the result being that she'd somewhat overslept. But she'd been commander-in-chief over the shop for an increasing amount of time as her father was away, and she didn't want to be elsewhere for Ben's first sight of it in so long.

"What's this? Abed after sunrise? This isn't the Lissie I know!" Ben teased, but Felicity could only manage a tight-lipped smile in response. His words echoed too closely her previous musings. Ben faltered a bit at her expression before beaming twice as brightly as before. "If we're all ready, then?"

"Goodbye, Mother!"

"Lissie, your hat!"

They made their way as quickly as possible, given propriety ("I'll not have the neighbors thinking the house is afire," Mr. Merriman told them sternly) through the streets to the Merriman's store. If Ben was surprised at the disrepair or desertedness of some of the buildings, he hid it well.

Felicity stopped him just before the door, calling a "Wait!" as her father helped her over the muddy puddle in front of the entryway. Ben, his hand already on the knob, turned to her.

"I want to be beside you when you go in."

He blinked, confused, but allowed her to join him. "Ready?"

She took a deep breath. "Ready."

Ben pushed open the door.

He staggered; Felicity, having anticipated this, seized his left arm and her father his right, supporting him while he tripped over the pieces of his expectations. Shoving them away, Ben rotated slowly on the spot, taking in that which through every battle and skirmish he'd learned to appreciate, to recognize as a haven he'd been lucky to have.

"'Tis so empty," he murmured, and collapsed onto an overturned barrel.

The shelves were nearly bare, only a few forlorn jugs and boxes drawing attention to the space around them. Three spools of dusty ribbon and a single bolt of calico marked the place where there had once been enough fabric to clothe half the families in Williamsburg; behind the counter, the cheerful, colorful rows of spices and toys had given way to a sad, raggedy procession of battered sacks. But most heartbreaking of all to Ben's eyes was the jar in the corner, the one that had held the seemingly endless supply of rock candy. The only thing in it was air. Ben put his head in his hands.

"'Tis not . . . quite as bad as all that," said Felicity, determinedly optimistic. "There's much more in the storeroom, and that we hid before the army came to Yorktown, that we haven't gotten around to bringing back in yet."

"The difficulty has been in the imported goods, mostly," added Mr. Merriman. "Trade has been slow, of course. And people don't have as much money as they used to be spending on trifles. From what Lissie's told me we get a fair business with flour, salt, things like that."

Ben didn't react.

Mr. Merriman looked between him and his daughter. "I'd better have Nan pay Mr. Nye his visit today, Lissie. You know more than I do what's been going on here; you'll be able to explain it better."

This finally provoked a sign of life from Ben. "Mr. Nye?"

"Aye. He's kind enough, now that he's off the bottle, and he's getting on in years." Mr. Merriman glanced down at his apprentice. "You remember the basket of cakes Lissie gave him as thanks for helping with Patriot?"

"Aye."

"Well, after you left, he came by to properly thank her for them. Months too late, but he did. I suppose he'd been out of the habit. He apologized for the way he'd been treating our family. Felicity's been watching out for him ever since."

"You said it yourself, father: he's getting old." Felicity stood—she'd been kneeling beside Ben—and took a step forward. "I'm worried about him. He's developing a cough like . . . like Grandfather's was. Don't bother Nan, father. Really, 'tis no trouble."

But Mr. Merriman shook his head. "You'd best to stay here, Lissie." Lowering his voice so that Ben couldn't hear, he said, "I think Ben needs a friend now."

Felicity sucked in a breath. "Then if you think so . . ."

"I do. I'll be back soon, both of you, and I want to see that someone's been working." The door closed with a sharp _bang _behind him.

After a pause, Ben looked up. "Forgive me. That's twice now I've walked in and said the exact wrong thing."

"It's not as if you can be blamed."

"Mmh."

"I've been thinking about what you said last night," Felicity hesitated as she tied on an apron. "About changes. Maybe they _aren't _the…best thing in the world, but maybe they're necessary."

Ben gestured to the barren shelves. "Even this?"

Felicity set her mouth in a straight line. "Even this. If _we_ can't get enough, then it means the redcoats can't either. And that's something to take heart in."

Ben shook his head, but he seemed less despairing than before. "You always did know what to say. Leave me alone for a bit, Felicity? I need some time."

"I'll give you an hour," Felicity told him, already disappearing into to the storeroom. "After that you should hope you're prepared to get this place looking decent again."

And so they did.


	5. Winter of '81'82

**These next bits should be short scenes to fill in the space between what's happened already and the September of 1783, which was, of course, when the Treaty of Paris was signed. **

**.**

The Winter of '81-'82

**December 1781**

"Inspection!"

Felicity smiled and put her hands on her hips, quirking a brow at her two youngest siblings. They stood stiffly, arms at their sides, staring up at her expectantly.

"I've told you," she said, "If you want to be neatened up, you'll have to go to Nan. She's much better at this than I am."

"Nan always tightens my stays," complained Polly. She'd sagged out of her soldier-like stance. William, about to pinch her, caught his eldest sister's eye and folded his hands behind his back instead.

"And she makes me change my stockings _three times_ before she's satisfied!" William shook his head at the injustice.

Felicity raised the other brow. "That happened one time, Will."

Polly was not to be ignored. "And she tugs at my hair _awfully_. Lissie, please?"

As she had done last week, and the week before that, and the week before that, Felicity bent down and took ahold of each left elbow. "Oh, just this once, if you promise it won't happen again."

"We promise!"

Ben, who had been watching this with interest, asked, "How often does this happen? Why, I remember you couldn't keep your own skirts straight, much less anyone else's."

"Ever since mother became too busy to keep an eye on these ragamuffins" she poked Polly's nose "every minute of the day, they've decided that they much prefer my…lenient methods. It's a waste of time, whenever anyone else is home, for they always haul these two off to get _properly_ tidied. There, Polly." She kissed her sister's forehead.

"And they come to you anyway?" Ben folded his arms. "Miss Polly and Master William, I do believe that leads to _more_ prodding, not less."

"Not if they don't catch us!" said William, eyes bright.

Felicity laughed. "Hope springs eternal. That's you, Will." Her brother scowled and rubbed at the spot of his own forehead kiss.

"I'm afraid I'll look quite scruffy escorting this fine lady and gentleman around town." Lifting up a sleeve, he mournfully examined it. "I should have known there'd be no outshining the Merriman clan."

"Rubbish. Here." Impulsively, Felicity reached over and tugged Ben's collar flat. "Turn around." She brushed away the dirt on his cloak. "There, now, you won't be so out of place." To the others: "Don't forget mother's holly for the table."

Polly stopped with a foot over the door frame. "What about Ben's kiss?"

Heat rushed to Felicity's neck. "What _can_ you mean, Polly? Remember, be back in time for supper, we're—"

"His kiss like you gave William and me, for good luck!" Polly stuck out her lower lip. "Don't you want him to have good luck, too?"

"Why, of course I do, but that's hardly an indication of the future." She studiously avoided glancing over to Ben. "Run along, and mind you don't forget to watch for—"

"_I'm _not going to leave until you give Ben good luck." Drawing the foot back inside, Polly set her chin and tried to look stern.

Felicity sighed. "This is nonsense." She rose up onto her tiptoes and touched her lips quickly to Ben's cheek. "There, happy?"

"Yes," said Polly, and skipped outside, followed by a grinning William and a rather pink apprentice.

* * *

**February 1782**

"Who are you writing to?"

Ben set down his pen and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Do you_ ever_ run out of questions?"

"No." Felicity plunked down into the chair across from him. "You've been scribbling and crossing out, scribbling and crossing out for the last hour. You're wasting paper. Who are you writing to?"

Pushing the half-finished letter to the side, Ben rested his chin on his fist and wrinkled his nose. "'Tis for a woman who helped me when I was wounded."

"Oh?"

"Don't you go squinting at me suspiciously like that, Lissie. Her name is Mrs. Haffner, and her son fought in the French and Indian War."

"And her daughter?"

"She's got nine boys." He perked up. "Why so interested?"

"Stop that! Just making sure you're not breaking some poor girl's heart. Father would never forgive you."

"Me?" Ben chuckled. "I hardly think I'm the heart-breaking type, Lissie. And besides, what about you? What are these 'lads of the town' your father talks about?"

Mercy, but this conversation was turning awkward fast. "Little Miss Obsessed-With-Horses? I'm sure I scare them all away."

"You'd be surprised." There it was again, that glimpse, that sense that some sort of covering had slipped behind his gaze. Time to change the subject.

"What . . . you said, you were wounded?" William's favorite activity, besides climbing trees and leaping fences, was to detail the injuries he collected while doing these things. There was no guarantee that Ben was the same but it was at least a different—

"I need to concentrate." The curtness of his response jolted her back to the present. Ben had turned so that his arm blocked the paper and was staring at it fiercely, angrily.

"Ben?"

"Don't you have chores to do?"

She felt as if he'd punched her. "Aye, to finish loading boxes from the store, as it seems you're otherwise occupied." It was a cruel thing to say, knowing how Ben had been working for his apprenticeship, but at the moment she didn't care.

He banged his hand down on the table. "Will you leave me in peace!"

"Of course. You'd better finish writing your . . . letter." Scorn dripped from every word. Felicity wavered for a breath in the doorway—_apologize to him, Lissie— _but he snorted and jabbed his pen into the inkwell, acting as if she wasn't even there.

_Infuriating clodhopper. What is he, five? _Felicity sniffed and swept from the room, the bitter taste of bile curdling in her throat.


	6. Responsibility

**A friend of mine told me that Valerie Tripp actually said once that Felicity and Ben would end up married, but I can't find the interview or whatever to verify that and so I must sit here wondering. **

**.**

Chapter 6

**July 1782**

Someone was shaking her. She knew it was a person, and not a fish, because fish didn't have hands. Though maybe they'd hired a pair of hands to wake her up. She'd have to talk to them later. Felicity cracked open her lids, trying to both see what was disturbing her and keep any light from burning away the haze of delicious unconsciousness.

A face blurred into focus in front of her, flesh-colored lumps becoming a nose, a mouth, a browline. It was familiar. She couldn't think why.

"You're handsome," she said sleepily, and closed her eyes again. Ouch. Her hair was playing tug-of-war with her scalp.

"What?"

Felicity blinked, choked, and then jerked upright from where her head had been lying on the desk. Ben was looking down at her with a mixture of shock and bewilderment.

"Nothing. A . . . bizarre dream." It had been, too, especially when the trout had begun to play the fiddle. Felicity took a deep breath to quiet the clamor behind her ribs and rubbed her temples in a circular motion. "Is it really morning?"

"Dawn." Pulling up a chair, Ben sat and braced his elbows on his knees. "Lissie, you mustn't push yourself so hard. You'll work yourself to death."

"I need to finish these," she protested, waving to the papers splayed across the wood surface. Lists of goods, columns of figures, and crossed-out sentences made a veritable web of information.

That she had been sleeping on.

"You'll do no one any use if you're exhausted." Ben swept up a stack of accounts, ignoring Felicity's half-hearted lunge to snatch them back, and dropped it into an open drawer. "Simply because you _can _make every important calculation your father or I can, doesn't mean you _should._"

"I don't know how to—" Felicity winced as she shifted her weight. Apparently the trout had also beaten her black and blue with his tail. "—do algebra, or anything like that."

"Be grateful. It's a torture worse than boiling oil." Ben smiled and reached for the remains of her bread-and-butter. "Now, I'm sure all of this would be perfectly fine if you left it for a few hours. To go to bed. Or at least eat supper at a table, even if your mother and the others aren't here. You're going to join them next week, by the way. King's Creek will give you the rest you need."

"But there's so much of it!" Knowing it was futile, Felicity pointed to one of the sheets. "They've just gotten a new shipment into Richmond and if—"

"Ah-ah! Stop." With his left index finger, Ben silenced the tide of speech. "I love this store as much as you do, but I'm not found using books of inventory for a pillow. You've done enough for one day, Lissie. Time to rest." He bent to pick her up.

Felicity knew she should object, but she was too tired to care. "You don't."

"I don't what?" Standing slowly, so as not to jostle her, Ben turned towards the stairs.

"Don't love the store as much as I do." Felicity put her arm around Ben's neck to hold on. "It's the finest store in all of Williamsburg."

"Aye, that it is. But you can't let that mean you're staying up to all hours of the night and neglecting your own health." Leaning forward on the steps to keep his balance, Ben adjusted his grip where Felicity's gown was slipping from his grasp.

"I'm fine. I'm determined that father will find the place running more smoothly than he left it." Snuggling into him, she added in a voice so low Ben almost missed it, "He won't be disappointed in me."

"He never would be!" But Felicity was already asleep.

* * *

**November 12, 1782: Ben's Birthday**

"And many happy returns!"

The captain pounded Ben on the back, hard enough to make the smaller man cough, and loosed a guffaw that would make the very heavens ring had it not been muffled by the roof. Captain Tobias Crouse was very fat, very loud and, Felicity suspected, very drunk, though Ben maintained that his current state was his usual one.

The man had shown up that afternoon with naught but his hat and his horse, a magnificent roan that Felicity could see immediately he'd been driving too hard. Only barely had she managed to get the Captain inside to Nan's graciousness before rushing the gelding to the stable.

And if that wasn't enough, once he'd found out it was Ben's birthday he'd invited himself to dinner, tracked his muddy boots all over the house, and completely monopolized any conversation with misguided advice, bad jokes, and allusions to things only Ben seemed to understand. The one right thing he'd done since he arrived was to thank Felicity and Nan for the food; and as he'd been neither invited nor announced, Felicity thought, he'd damn well better be grateful.

She stood now on the front porch, sucking in the clear night air and trying valiantly to wrestle her emotions into submission. Her knuckles were clamped so tightly to the railing that they had turned white.

_How** dare** he?_

She didn't know whom she angrier at, Captain Crouse for barging in like this or Ben for letting him. With father still God-knew-where and mother days away, visiting her best friend's daughter (the reason why had not be explained to Felicity's satisfaction), it was all Felicity could do to keep the household from collapsing _without_ this intrusion. _With_ it, even ignoring the impropriety, she might as well give up now.

Fighting the sudden urge to cry, Felicity knocked her forehead against the nearest post. And it had been such a perfect morning, too. Sunshine and baking bread and the promise of a gentle winter tickling her nostrils when she went to check on Posie.

Laughter burst forth behind her again, startling a squirrel that had been lurking behind a rosebush. It darted out into the open, quivering, and disappeared amongst the tall grass on the other side of the fence. For no explainable reason this made Felicity furious.

"Ben?" She peeked in the doorway, keeping her tone light and unworried. An icy curtain had dropped over her, wrapping her in a strangeness akin to exhilaration. "I'd like to speak to you, if you will."

Nan shot her sister a sharp look.

With a nod to the others, Ben crumpled his napkin and got up from the table. He was grinning; happy, having fun, a bit curious.

He jumped in before she could begin to speak. "What do you think of Toby? I didn't expect to see him so soon." Ben yawned and leaned against the post she'd just vacated.

Felicity faced the street. "He mistreats his horse."

"Aw, Lissie, you're not going to judge him on that? Not everyone has your skill, you know. If he'd realized he was going too fast he would have slowed down."

"'Tis _not_ just that, Ben Davidson." The ice was evaporating, and quickly. "Did you think for one minute what the rest of the family was going to do while you and—"

"The _rest_ of the family?" It took a great deal of self-control to keep Felicity from punching Ben's smirk all the way to Maryland. "Am I part of it now, then?"

_Deep breaths, Lissie. _"That is not the issue here. The issue is that you have brought this man into our house and—"

"Whoosh! Calm down, Lissie, 'tis not like he'll be doing anything he shouldn't." Ben made what he clearly thought was an acceptably impish expression, to which she was supposed to laugh and let things be.

"I most certainly will _not _calm down!" Only the fear that Polly or William would overhear them kept her voice to a fierce whisper. "You think that you can waltz in with whoever you please, no matter for anyone else in the house, no matter what the neighbors will say—"

Ben wasn't smiling anymore. "I've never known you to be caring about the neighbors…"

"Of course not, when I was ten! 'Tis bad enough with you here, what I hear when I go to deliver packages, about me and . . . about Nan! The only mercy is that Polly is too young to be talked of in such ways but now that your _Captain _friend has arrived I daresay even that won't be sufficient!" Something slithered down her chest, causing her spine to twitch in irritation. Her wrap. With a snort she snatched it up and threw it over the railing.

"Look at you, gone high-and-mighty!" Against the crowding shadows Ben's eyes were dark, warning. "Only_ you _can have friends! Only_ you_ know what's best, what's right! And because it doesn't convenience _you_ for someone to come visiting _me_, you'll—"

"And what do you know about what's best? You've been here one year since 1776, and you've no idea what happens to women and children alone in a town! Think of Will and Polly, you—" Felicity stuttered, her mother's upbringing still carrying enough force to stop what she _wanted_ call him "—you _imbecile, _and he's drunk what's left of father's best wine—"

"Now hold on, girl, you gave that to him!" They had been backing each other this-way and that-way across the porch, advancing in turns. This time, Ben planted himself in the middle, which made Felicity have to have to crick her neck to look at him. "You could've asked him to leave at any time, Tobe would've done it."

A sound somewhere between a laugh and a snarl leapt from Felicity's throat. "And be rude?"

"Don't much care about being rude, from where I see it!" While Felicity spewed forth knots of syllables, in a subconscious effort to appear more formidable, the more agitated _Ben_ became the shorter his words got. "It's my birthday and I'll be damned if you'll put me on a leash!"

"Oh I suppose that makes it all perfectly fine! It's Ben's birthday, everyone, let's curtsey to the emperor on his glorious throne! What gives you the privilege to determine the guests even if they're devoid of _any _decency or with nary a— "

"He saved my life!"

The silence that followed throbbed against her ears, red fury still muffling the outside world. For a clutch of heartbeats, she felt something akin to sympathy; then the rage was back, but the break had at least alerted her to matters beyond her desire to kick Ben through the wall.

"Miss Merriman?"

Turning, Felicity realized not only that, but why, the chatter from the dining room had stopped. Captain Crouse filled the entire doorway, thumbs tucked under his vest; Polly and William peeped out in the scanty spaces left by his prodigious girth. Felicity was past embarrassment, and glad of it, for otherwise her cheeks would be flaming.

"Let me be," growled Ben, snapping her attention again to him. Twisted sour with his next, unspoken argument, he wrenched himself around and leapt over the side of the porch. Felicity glanced heavenward briefly and then returned to her audience.

"I apologize, Captain," said she. "You should not have had to hear that."

"'Twas nothing I haven't heard before." Crouse rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw. "Your sister will be missing you," he said to the two trying to crane around him. "I'll follow you in a moment; there's a subject I must discuss with Miss Merriman."

"She's—" began Polly, but William tugged her out of sight.

"How much?" asked Felicity. The fire had been subdued, if not vanished, by the man's appearance. Crouse sighed and heaved his belly forward a step. It wobbled around like a Christmas pudding as he walked; Felicity had to force herself not to stare.

"Enough," the man replied. Felicity felt sick. _See where my temper gets me?_

"I hadn't known you disliked my presence so much." He was smiling, which made Felicity's spirits sink lower. _Even this one is politer than I am. Mother would be ashamed of me, she would._

"Please, don't trouble yourself over it." Crouse grimaced. "I'm not as . . . well-mannered as I should be. I'm ashamed to be causing you a problem."

Felicity let out her breath. "'Tis of no importance, Captain," she said properly, though it was. Tomorrow would bring fresh rumors and prying visitors, for it was difficult to keep any secrets in the town, and the people were sore pressed to find any sort of diversion lately. The bulk of the fighting was over. Now 'twas just . . . waiting. She _hated _waiting.

A small chuckle escaped Crouse's lips. "You don't have to call me that, Miss Merriman. 'Tis only a nickname the boys invented for me."

Dismayed, Felicity gaped at him. "So you're _not_ a Captain?"

"Indeed, no! No man in his right mind would give _me _that, ah, rather dubious honor! 'Twas a rousing joke through the camp that if I ever made Captain I'd single-handedly bring the country crashing down around our ears." He hesitated, and then jerked his chin towards the place Ben had disappeared. "Has he told you how he and I met?"

Reluctantly, she shook her head. "He said you saved his life." _Though I suppose you heard that._

"That I did, and the only thing of note I've managed since or ever." When Felicity didn't return his grin he _ahem!-ed _and continued, "Germantown. The worst . . ." his merriment leaked out of him quick as water from a wrung towel. "I was stumbling around, like everyone else, in the confusion when I happen across . . . Ben had been cut in the side with a bayonet and I somehow got him far enough away." From the hunted way he stared over Felicity's shoulder, she knew not to question him, though her curiosity was growing. "We ended up in Valley Forge together, and I helped him—"

"I thought a Mrs. Haffner had helped him," blurted Felicity, and clapped a hand to her mouth. Hadn't she just decided not to say anything?

Crouse didn't seem to mind. "He said that, did he? Well, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd been hurt again; it's hardly a risk-free profession." And Felicity marveled at his ability to make jokes, even when faced with such a horror.

"Yes … he has that look." The not-Captain frowned. "Anyway, after he'd been nursed as well as could be expected, and he still wasn't getting up I figured I'd better do something, seeing as he had started out my responsibility."

_He says nothing of the stories I've heard of that place, _thought Felicity, guarding her reaction.

Obviously wanting not to dwell on that particular winter, Crouse rushed ahead; "And you know how I got him back onto his feet, Miss Merriman? How I kept him from becoming some stiff old good-as-a-grandfather?"

There was something almost childish in the way he asked this, eagerly seeking reassurance that she was listening. _As if I'd not be. _Felicity obliged him, however, and indicated her interest.

"With dancing!"

"Dancing?"

"Naturally, Miss Merriman! There's no finer cure in the world for self-pity!" Crouse scraped his palms together, enjoying Felicity's astonishment. "Oh, 'twas a grand spectacle! Me out in the cold and snow trying to coax a surly boy thirty years my junior through a minuet! I have reason to believe he seriously considered maiming me. But by-and-by he came around; and then some of the other lads had joined in. They argued that they'd need the practice for when Washington drove the—" he coughed "—redcoats away with their tails between their legs."

"Am I to take from this that you saved Ben's life with _dancing_?" This was too much.

"I don't think 'twas only that," said Crouse, solemn again. "'Twas more that he wasn't left alone to brood." He sighed. "I myself knew after that winter that I wasn't cut for soldiering— I became a supplier, like your Father."

"How do you know what Father does?"

At this, Crouse was surprised. "Your letters, Miss Merriman! You haven't forgotten?"

Whatever clemency had been spreading from Crouse's words vanished. "He read my letters to you?"

"To all of us." Catching her tone, he looked up and tried to backtrack. "Only bits and pieces, miss, and occasionally, but you must understand that when one is not on a mission there is naught else to do but reminisce. And Ben had managed to keep from losing his letters, so—" he took a breath. "He's a good lad, Ben. Given the chance, he'll do what's right. Please grant him that."

Felicity drummed her fingers against her thigh. If she were completely honest, it wasn't only her siblings she resented being discussed. It was herself as well, and more than she should. But Ben hadn't thought of that, had he?

"Both of you." The quiet voice slipped around her musings. "You're both older than you should have to be."

Shivering— she _had _removed her shawl— Felicity pushed her knuckles against her eyebrows. "That wasn't a very mature conversation you walked into, sir. We've still got a ways to go."

"Aye. Not as far as you think, however." Crouse massaged his stomach. "Ben really does care about you, you know."

Pointedly turning towards the house, Felicity shoved away the guilt that rose to her teeth. _'Tis not like he's innocent._

"You don't believe me, miss? Look at him."

Despite herself Felicity glanced back to see Ben, standing at a right angle to her, arms crossed and muttering. He broke off abruptly and clasped his hands at the base of his neck, pulling at the brown queue; then he took a small knife out of his pocket and cut one of the late-blooming roses that grew close to the fence.

"He didn't realize." Dragging her gaze to Crouse once more, Felicity saw that he had one foot on the front step. "I'll be leaving now, Miss Merriman. Again, I beg your pardon for causing you trouble." With a tip of the hat she hadn't seen him reach for, he strode off into the darkness.

When she turned around, there was Ben.

"Hullo," he said uncomfortably.

Felicity didn't respond.

"I . . ." his fingers ran up and down the stem of the rose, finding the spaces between the thorns. "I hadn't meant to yell, Felicity."

She should smile now, reassure him. But she was still angry.

"I'll go through the town, tomorrow, tell everyone that they're mistaken about what they've been saying."

"No," said Felicity. "That would make it worse." She ought to thank him for his thoughtfulness. But she was still angry.

Ben tried again. "I don't want you, or me, or anyone to… go to sleep resenting on my birthday."'

"What have you come to say?" To keep the words gentle would be impossible; she did her best not to make them cutting.

"I…didn't know, I'm sorry." Ben hung his head. "I didn't think. Or, I did, but about my debt to him and not to how it would affect the rest of you. Maybe—" he stopped caressing the stem and held out the rose. "I haven't a real gift to give you, Lissie, nor the right words to say it, but if there's anything I can do . . . I'm sorry."

Felicity stared at the flower. The light flooding in from the window turned the edges to gold, the petals to chips of smoke. What lay in the heart she could not see.

"I'm…vexed at you, Ben Davidson," she said slowly. "You didn't consider the consequences, and it's become a problem for this entire family. But, " for he had begun to move away, "'Tis no more than I myself have done several times. That does not make it acceptable but, perhaps, forgivable."

Disbelieving, Ben raised his eyes to meet hers.

She wasn't prepared for the wave of emotion that small action would pull to the surface. As if a veil had been torn away and she could see everything he felt, everything he hoped for . . . to distance herself she said, "Can I trust you?"

"Yes."

_Could she? _The rose hovered between them, first tilting one way, then another. Forgive. Condemn. Faith. Doubt. Could she even choose one? She was very upset. Some mean little corner of her wanted to leave Ben suffering, refuse, dismiss him, or not even answer at all.

Longing swept through her, to lean in and hug him, hold him; to have him hold her. It would be so easy.

But she was still angry.

Felicity plucked the rose from his limp fingers and went inside to find a vase, wanting to sob and scream and sleep and vomit and wishing that tonight had never, ever happened.

.

**Author's Update: I've learned since writing this (thanks to pansyphoenix) that Ben's real birthday was December 19. However, I still wanted him to give Lissie a rose, and after failing (again) to find Ben's birth date in the books I've decided to keep this how it is. For the purposes of this fic, please pretend that his birthday is in November.**


	7. Further Complications

Further Complications

**April 1783**

Elizabeth was a little bird, flitting here and there, shaking the mud from her feathers, patting her hair flat and bundling the three youngest Merrimans out into the rain before they knew enough to protest. Felicity's mother wisely remembered some pressing chore upstairs and left her daughter and her daughter's friend to the privacy of the sitting room. They were already chattering; Elizabeth had been gone for months, away to the estate belonging to one of her father's acquaintances.

". . . and every night we had to talk to someone we hadn't before, though of course by the end of the first two days everyone knew each other and we had to pretend. Oh, it was marvelous fun, Lissie! I wish you could have been there." Elizabeth folded her hands on her stomach.

It took a moment for Felicity to adjust to the fact that Elizabeth had stopped talking. Never had she heard her friend say so much so fast. Somewhat dizzy, swallowing a prickle of jealousy, she said, "Then I do too, for I've been pining away for you here. 'Tis always, 'what shall I do without Elizabeth?' and 'Woe, woe, Elizabeth must be having such a time!'"

Elizabeth laughed and nudged Felicity in the side, saying "Don't worry, I couldn't speak to any of them half as well as I speak to you. I've had to bottle up my impulses and save them. But now, 'tis your turn." She made what Felicity called her spy-face, the one where she seemed about pass along important information. "What aboutyour courtship, Felicity? Come, I've told you all of mine. 'Tis not like you to keep mum on any subject for this long."

"My courtships?" Felicity laughed. "Indeed, I have nothing to tell. Many of the young men have been . . ." she looked down, not wishing to bring up such a sensitive subject as the Revolution, especially to Elizabeth, especially now that a Patriot victory was all but definite. "Well, there haven't been a lot around recently. I've not engaged in any other flirtations since the last one I told you about."

"George," said Elizabeth with a wink. Felicity rolled her eyes.

"Ugh. He would not leave me alone. I had to actually box his ears before he would stop hanging around the store and still every time I see him I'm tempted to run to the other side of the road."

Her friend giggled. "Lissie, you do get in to the most uncomfortable trouble. But that was more than a year ago! I know you're not being truthful with me. Do tell, Lissie, you know I won't laugh if—" she stopped and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh dear! I apologize. I've made you think that I'll scoff at anyone who isn't . . . I'm so sorry! They're every one of them _very_ silly, I promise you, I'd much rather have someone like your Ben—"

Felicity gagged. "Wha . . . what do you mean, my Ben? We're good friends, to be sure, but . . ."

A line appeared between Elizabeth's eyebrows. "Surely you must see the way he looks at you?

The red-head's hands went up to straighten her cap. "Why, I took ill this winter, is all. The _tiniest_ cold. He's worried, as any good friend would be, though I keep reminding him that I'm perfectly all right. 'Tis nothing more."

Shaking her head, Elizabeth fixed Felicity with a stare of greatest disbelief. "He watches you like . . . If that be merely friendship, then I'm a moldy cheese." Narrowing her eyes, she added "you're going to shred that cap to pieces if you keep on pulling at it."

There was something much too knowing in Elizabeth's smile. With great effort, Felicity managed to yank her hands down and knit them in her lap. It was entirely illogical for this conversation to be making her agitated. "Elizabeth, I don't know where you get your information, but I can assure you that Ben and I are not . . . not courting, nor will we ever!" A surprisingly strong feeling of relief came from saying these words aloud. Felicity felt as if she had just finished pulling herself out of a mud swamp.

Elizabeth's eyes became round. "You really don't know," she murmured.

"Know what?"

"Oh, never mind." Elizabeth let out what sounded alarmingly like a cackle. "You'll find out soon enough."

* * *

**August 1783**

They'd been in Yorktown near three days and done nothing but sit around Ben's mother's (Mrs. Davidson, Felicity constantly had to remind herself to think) house and mention the weather. 'They' were Ben, to see his family; Felicity because she was going mad trapped indoors with Polly (moping around since William had declared himself too old for "stupid girls' games"); and Nan, who had decided that her sister and the apprentice needed a chaperone. Felicity huffed and tsk-ed and felt just the tiniest bit relieved.

But Felicity had not anticipated the endless rounds of pleasantries that would await her, so when _Mrs. Davidson_ had found herself out of ham she had leaped at the change. Running of a list of the reasons she was the best for the job, Felicity had escaped to the center of town. Mrs. Davidson's undeceived glance had done nothing to dissuade her; only the woman's quiet recommendation that Ben accompany her had saved the ends of her dignity, kept her from dashing helter-skelter and losing herself in an unfamiliar city.

Not that Felicity was bothered about her image. She wanted _out_, and didn't give a fig about anyone else. That her hat was tied securely and her steps (however hurried) small was for her hostesses' sake, not her own. She took in great gulps of air, never minding the grit or the way the sun beat upon her shoulders, enjoying the bursts of color from signs and store windows and reveling in the cries and calls and overall rumpus.

Ben strode along next to her, sucking in the sights of the town in which he'd spent his childhood. Constantly he was pointing to a building, or touching her shoulder to alert her to a family friend. Five feet couldn't go by but some silver-haired man or woman was clasping Ben's hand, exclaiming about how tall he'd grown. Felicity was confused at first; hadn't they seen him just a couple of years ago? 'Twasn't like he was still at the age where he'd be shooting up to the sky . . . Ben turned redder and redder as one enthusiastic "aunt" gave a spirited retelling of the time he'd eaten three whole pies, punctuating her performance by standing on tiptoe and patting him on the head. Felicity was forced to duck into a doorway, and it took several minutes for her to compose herself.

"You don't even care," Ben lamented, guiding her down a side street. "These people ambush me from every side and chain me whilst announcing the most obscure blunders to the world and you can't even muster a bit of sympathy?"

"Oh, but I'm learning so much about you!" said Felicity innocently.

Ben squinted at her. "Hmph. Here's the butcher's. The back," he explained, when Felicity gave him a disbelieving look- it was a small stall wedged between looming walls. "You get a better deal here, if you know how. Mr. Zwickin!" he called, bending into the shade behind the counter. "Mr. Zwickin! 'Tis Ben, I've come to—you're not Mr. Zwickin."

A miniature man with pale, stringy hair walked forward, a knife clutched in his fist. Inching sideways to shield Felicity, Ben changed his tone to one that was carefully emotionless. "Good day, sir. Is Mr. Zwickin in?"

"No." The man shoved the knife into his belt.

"Is he coming back soon?"

"No."

Pushing Ben aside, Felicity waved to the hams hanging from the ceiling. "Please, sir, if you can be of service, we require one of these."

The man's eyes jumped to her and stayed there. "Aye."

"Felicity, let's go somewhere else," Ben said loudly. He was glaring; the resentment pouring out of him was so acute Felicity fancied she could see it shiver between him and the stranger. Admonishing him with a glance—_how rude!_—she let the man know her ham of choice and he ambled around getting it for her, pulling paper and string from shelves beneath the counter.

"Felicity, I think I see something better across the road." Ben grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the stall, paying no heed to her struggles or her shouted apologies to the butcher-man. He didn't slow his pace even when they had turned the corner, and she had to stumble and sway after him.

"Ben, what is the matter with you! Your mother needs that meat, and what possible reason did you have for acting so!"

"I didn't like the way he looked at you." His grip tightened. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

Annoyed, Felicity tried to yank free. She only succeeded in bruising her arm. "Let me go this instant! If that's the best justification you can come up with for—"

Ben clenched his teeth, glanced around, and pulled her into the thin alleyway between two shops. "I don't know that man. I don't know who's been here, who's moved in during the war. It isn't officially over yet. I don't trust him. And I know what he was thinking."

"Which was?"

"Don't you claim ignorance! Maybe you didn't see it, but I did. You're not a little girl anymore, Felicity. Do you understand?"

"I don't—" Felicity's words faded. He was too close. Much too close. The heat and the dust from the street were making her head pound. She needed air.

Ben's eyes flicked over her face. "This isn't about politeness, but caution."

It took a great effort to speak again—like trying to sing through a mouthful of bread. "I . . . understand."

His breath blew across her cheek. "Thank you, Felicity. I _am_ sorry. There are simply some things I cannot risk."

Air. She needed air. But if she ducked out, he'd think she was running away.

"You—" his voice caught. He tilted his head to the side. "You have—"

He smelled like cinnamon. That was absurd. How could a person smell like cinnamon?

"Well, I . . ." Ben stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose we'd best get back to what we came here for." Was he nervous? "After you, Lissie."

Ears roaring as if she'd just finished a furious horse race, Felicity found herself out on the street again, the sun cool now against her burning skin. Elizabeth's words buzzed around her thoughts from miles away: _Surely, you must see the way he looks at you?_

* * *

"Lissie, why are you avoiding Ben?" Nan's fingers didn't pause in their rhythm of shelling peas. Anyone who didn't know her would think she wasn't paying attention to her question.

Felicity, unfortunately, lacked such control. "I'm not avoiding him!"

"You've said barely three words to him since last week, and the both of you insisted upon coming home _days_ earlier than planned. Something's happened."

"I've just . . . been thinking . . . that I haven't been spending enough time with the family, or with Elizabeth. 'Tis a wonder you haven't sent out search parties." It wasn't a particularly good joke, but Felicity was proud that she didn't quaver once.

Nan rolled her eyes. "Lissie," she said patiently, "You are by far the stupidest person I've ever met."

.

**According to my research, "helter-skelter" has been in usage since the late 1500s.**


	8. Cry Baby Cry

Cry, Baby Cry

**October 1783**

Every day that week had been miserable. Rainy and gray, the bad weather had crept in over walls and though the cracks in windows, spreading a coldness not so much of the flesh but of the soul and that not even the brightest candles could push away.

Water was her life. Felicity caught herself longing for the hot dust of summer, for sunburn and tongues sticky with thirst. Anything but this _flood._ The road was more puddles than cobblestones.

Shoes and stockings soaked, shivering in the unseasonable chill, Felicity set her basket (which wilted on the bare shelf) down and peeled her gloves off, blowing on her fingers to warm them. It was too much, and nobody wanted to help her, and then she felt guilty because Mother was working twice as hard as she and—someone was crying.

For a moment, she let herself droop— _no, I can't, please_— and then she smoothed her face and tiptoed towards the sound, forcing her mind to find another kernel of strength. If this was Polly, she'd have to think up a game to distract her. If William, she'd need patience to coax him into talking. She _didn't want_ to do this, she had no ideas, why couldn't she be more like . . . _Nan!_

Felicity had to resist the urge to rub her eyes. This couldn't be true. Nan didn't cry, Nan never cried. Oh, she must have when she was a baby, but Felicity couldn't remember any circumstance in which Nan had been so unhinged. Yet if she were to believe what she was seeing, Nan was curled up on her bedroom floor, loud and wrenching sobs pouring over her cheeks and chin.

What on earth could she do? There was no store in Felicity's brain of ways to comfort her eldest sister. Simple reassurances, maybe, but nothing to deal with this. Then Nan began to thrash—her crying elevated to a shriek—and Felicity's instinct took over.

"Oh, Nan." She fell to her knees and bundled her sister up into her arms. "Come here." Nan latched onto Felicity with the desperation of a drowning sailor, leaving behind a small something on the rug that Felicity realized she must have been clutching. "Shhh, Nan, it's all right. Everything's fine." Untangling a hand, Felicity picked up the colored scrap. It was a faded, battered rag doll. Thinking perhaps that it might help, she tucked the doll into the crook of Nan's elbow. Far from quieting her, it made matters worse.

Panicking, Felicity tried to tug the doll away; Nan hugged it tighter, pushed her forehead harder against Felicity's shoulder, and finally, whispering through gasps, began to speak.

"Father gave me that. Don't take it from me."

"I won't Nan, shhh. Don't worry."

"Don't take it from me!"

"No one is going to take it from you."

"He lied to me, he lied, he did!"

"Shhh."

"It's the nineteenth of October and he lied to me, he—" Nan was becoming more and more agitated with each word, her limbs flailing around and whacking Felicity painfully. Felicity attempted to restrain her, but Nan was out of control. She settled for "Who, Nan? Tell me."

Her sister took a shuddering breath. "When I was five and I haven't forgotten he went away for a long time. Before he left he told me he was going to be gone and I said 'When will you be back?' and he said he'd be back on the nineteenth of October and there was a storm and I thought he'd be lost but he was back and he gave me my doll and it was just for me no one else and he said he'd be back by the nineteenth of October and it's the nineteenth now and he's not back he lied to me!" She ended on a high whine, clamped her lips shut, and resumed beating herself against Felicity, a wave breaking to the rock by the shore.

_So. _For several weeks now, Father had been off on another mission. Everyone in the family had implored him not to go, reminding him that things were mostly ended and he couldn't possibly be the only supplier who'd survived, could he? He'd told them that as long as things were a mess he'd be needed, and left, promising a return by September— and Nan was right, it was the middle of October now, and they had no idea where he was. Felicity felt her own wail rising deep within her, a column of pain and suppressed worry, of love for her Father and hatred for this war and everything and it was _raining_ . . .! She raised her head, to blink back tears, and saw Ben standing in the doorway.

He was speckled with dark stains from raindrops, and covered in mud. He hadn't taken off his boots or coat before coming upstairs. A sodden paper-wrapped parcel was in his left hand; his expression was one of distress and concern. Without releasing Nan, Felicity tried to signal for him to leave— her sister surely wouldn't want another to see her as she was. But Ben, with a look to Felicity, put the parcel down and stepped deliberately into the room.

"Have I told you," he said conversationally, and Felicity wanted to weep for how composed he was, "about Lazarus?"

Nan didn't appear to notice.

"I found him when I was . . . about seven, it must have been. A dog," he explained. "And none but me ever called him by his full name. Too long, you see. I don't remember why I named him that. I just thought that he looked like a Lazarus, the minute I saw him." He smiled. "My brothers teased me mercilessly."

'Twas funny. An outsider might have said that Ben had taken over the situation (and Felicity wouldn't have minded if he had) but it seemed more that he was helping her comfort Nan, working with her, not overpowering but merely trying to find the way, along with both of them, out of the desolation. Felicity resumed her stroking of Nan's back, crooning softly under Ben's monologue.

"He was the stupidest dog in Yorktown, possibly in all of Virginia. And he was ugly. Face like the wrong end of a donkey. But he was my best friend."

Were Felicity's ears playing tricks on her, or had Nan's sobs losing some of their frantic edge?

"We used to go every day to the big stretch of grass by Flauherty's place. I'd find a stick, or an old shoe, or something else for him to catch, and throw it out as far as I could. He'd either chase after it and come back fifteen minutes later with his paws full of burrs but no stick—or he'd ram into me until I toppled over, and we'd roll around in the grass. We'd get _appallingly_ dirty. My mother despaired of getting my clothing clean."

Nan was definitely quieter. She had stilled somewhat, also, though she was still shaking like a leaf.

"But Laz, he didn't care. Well, he was a dog. Once, he decided that he didn't like his bed by the fire- he'd never complained before, always loved the place—and he tried to heave his way up onto my mattress. He tore the blankets to shreds. Mother was furious."

Ben crouched beside Felicity and stared steadily at the corner of Nan's eye he could see around Felicity's arm. "Another time, he jumped up without any warning at all and walked straight out the door. For thirteen days, we saw not an inch of that dog, not even the end of his tail. I was out of my mind with worry—I thought he'd been attacked by a fox, or run over by a cart, or several increasingly nonsensical things. But at noon on the fourteenth day, he strode right back in again, as if nothing had happened, and began howling for his dinner. I don't think I've ever been happier than when Lazarus came back to me."

Nan was silent now, but for the occasional, absentminded shudder. Ben pried her fingers from Felicity's sleeves and together they lifted her onto the bed, drew the sheet up.

"And so if the most empty-headed, drool-toothed, practically blind and deafest creature in the continent could find his way back home, then your father will have no trouble at all."

"But Father's not a dog," said Nan. Her lower lip quivered dangerously.

"Exactly! He's a thousand times smarter than Lazarus. He'll be back with a tale to tell, and he'll track the road all around the house, and he'll eat more than his share of ginger cake and I'll have to go hungry."

"You eat too much as it is," Nan mumbled. She yawned. "I'm being silly."

"Of course not." Felicity plumped up Nan's pillow. "Father would be proud of how well you've handled everything. Mother is, I know. " She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "You've always been the best at battling anything that comes along."

"Silly," Nan repeated, and closed her eyes. Soon the sound of her deep breathing drifted from inside the sheet.

"This is the worst part of this war." Ben studied Nan's sleeping form, the confidence of the past half hour evaporating. "That no person remains untouched."

He looked so sad standing there that Felicity reached out to him, as she had to Nan. He returned the embrace without hesitation. The most natural thing in the world. She felt the aches of where Nan had struck her without knowing it, the prickle of her own suppressed emotions, now weak and useless. The exhaustion of the months and years spent on tenterhooks, and of a morning where the last of the New England cheese had soured and had to be thrown out.

"I'm tired," she said. She wanted to elaborate but was unable to muster the necessary force.

A sigh from above her. A pressure on the top of her head; Ben's clean-shaven cheek creased her cap. He pulled her closer. "Me too."

They stayed that way for a long time.

**.**

**The title is from a Beatles song.**


	9. What Cannot Be Said

**I'd figured the news of the Treaty of Paris signing wouldn't reach the Colonies for about three months. That's why Ben was talking about "this war" in the last chapter, and why this next one begins in December.**

.

What Cannot Be Said

**December 1783**

"We've done it!"

Felicity jumped, spilling polish all over the table.

"Lissie! Mrs. Merriman!"

Ben thundered through the front door, flushed and beaming. "Will! Nan! Polly! Oh, Lissie!" he ran to her and picked her up, spinning her around and around, the rag she had been using whipping out in a fan around them. "We've won, we've won!"

"What's this?" Nan came trotting in, dragging a sticky Polly behind her. "Ben! What's going—"

"We've done _what_?" Mrs. Merriman, absentmindedly carrying her sewing basket, glided in from the sitting room. "Ben, what's the meaning of this?"

"Why's everybody shouting?" William poked his head through the window. "I hear people singing in the street, and then—"

"We've won! The British have signed the treaty, they've given up! Old damn Georgie over there couldn't stand the heat!" With a whoop, he punched a fist in the air. "Ya!"

"Really?" Felicity felt her jaw drop, and then a wide grin spread across her face. A bubble of warmth and exhilaration bloomed in her chest. "We've won, Mother, everyone! We've won!"

"Oh my goodness!" Mrs. Merriman sank down into a chair, fanning herself about the face and neck. Felicity giggled, her head feeling oddly light.

"Lookit, Polly!" William had vaulted inside (earning him identical glares from his mother and Nan) and thrust a muddy shoe into her face. "Guess who this _doesn't _belong to! The dirt, silly," he said when Polly looked confused. "King George! Get it? Because he lost!"

"But I thought he'd _already _lost," Polly said. She poked at William's foot. "Long and long ago!"

"You're a smart girl." Ben bent down. "We've known how this'd end for a while, but it still takes a weight off to have it official. That's why we're so happy!"

"I wish your father were here," Mrs. Merriman murmured unexpectedly. Felicity's questioning glance turned into a gasp and a grab for her mother's hand; her eyes seemed overly wet. William's grin faded.

"You've all been such a help," Mrs. Merriman continued. "I cannot tell you how proud I am."

Polly looked around at all her siblings, trying to find an explanation. "Why is Mama sad?" she whispered to Nan, who was closest; she got a "Shh!" for her trouble.

"Oh my. I'm _not_ sad, dear." With a fleeting smile, Felicity's mother drew her youngest child to her. "I'm relieved. And I am grateful to my family."

"Even me?"

"Especially you. Ben!"

Ben stopped, half-way to the kitchen, and turned back. "Ma'am?"

"Please don't feel excluded. You've been wonderful these past months, looking after this band of knaves. Particularly Felicity."

Stung, Felicity sucked in her cheeks to keep from saying something rude. _Mother! _Her reaction must have shown however, for Ben's face was a tad too expressionless as he said, "Thank you, ma'am, but I don't believe Felicity needed looking after."

"Oh, you're right. Forgive an old woman her sentimentality." Batting aside the chorus of _No, never!s _and _You're not old!s_, she stood, shook out her sleeves, and seemed to return to her usual serene self. "'Tis certain the streets are run ragged by now. Go on! I'll catch up later."

Shouting joyfully, William jumped up, gave Mrs. Merriman a fleeting hug, and threw himself out the front door. Polly tumbled after, and the more sedate Nan, though even she couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Are you coming, Lissie?" asked Ben. Felicity's eyes darted to her mother, suddenly uncomfortable that she was watching; she received a cheery wave and so Felicity took Ben's proffered arm and stepped out to the snow and the sleet and the fresh scent of freedom wafting from the chimney.

* * *

There was one flaw in Felicity's jubilation, and it had been voiced by Mrs. Merriman the day before; that her father was not there to celebrate with her. Perhaps that was what drove her to rise in the cold before the sun, shivering as she dressed in her heaviest woolen gown, hunting high and low without success for the cap that had apparently melted through the floorboards— _For goodness' sake, 'tis not like anyone will see you!—_and tiptoe to the stable to find solace with the horses.

She was wrong. Ben, it appeared, had not been able to sleep either. He was collecting the stray bits of hay and restacking them, facing the back wall, so he didn't see Felicity enter; he had also (to Felicity's acute embarrassment) removed his coat and vest and was working in only his shirt and breeches.

Tongue-tied and rooted to the spot, Felicity passed swiftly over her initial blank shock and began an internal war to shame the ordeal that the country had just gotten out of. _Do I leave quietly, or make a sound to let him know I'm here? Won't he be annoyed? _She could see Patriot turn and catch sight of her, and her fingers itched to run along his mane—_Hush, boy, hush, I need more time! Stay? Leave? What—_ and let loose an enormous whinny that Felicity was sure could be heard all across Virginia. _No! Damn!_

She tried to twist outside again, but the damage was done; Ben looked around for whatever had startled the horse and his gaze settled slowly, agonizingly upon Felicity.

His mouth dropped into a perfect O. His eyes bulged. His nostrils flared. It was the most comical face Felicity had seen him make and before she could check it, it bubbled up and flew out between them: "_HA!_"

A second later she had stuffed her right fist into her mouth and frozen, burning red and terrified. Ben's eyebrows shot up. Then he reached behind him, picked up a handful of hay and in two steps lobbed it right at her nose.

Direct hit.

"Hey!"

"Hay!"

What followed was one of the most brutal, daring, merciless, giggly, take-no-prisoners, give-no-quarter, all-hands-on-deck-show-'em-the-strength-of-our-cannons-boys battles that has ever been conducted in recorded history. The stable was up to the rafters in a storm of flung hay, cries pretending to be whispers, and the squirmy knowledge that somewhere you couldn't see someone was about to attack you in an absurd way.

When at last the valiant soldiers collapsed against the stalls, panting, the first glow of sunrise was inching around the edges of the door. Felicity could see her surroundings clearly as the aftermath of the fight settled, and the sight made her shake her head.

"This will take _ages_ to clean up."

"And after all the hard work I did, too!" Ben staggered over to her, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. "You," he pointed at her, "should not be allowed out of your room for a fortnight."

"Of course this is _my _fault. Oh, you're absolutely _dripping_ in hay." Felicity unwound her skirts from her ankles. "And so am I. Here." She began plucking at Ben's shoulders, biting her lip in concentration.

"You're a menace," said Ben cheerfully, moving forward to return the gesture. "Waking up at the crack of dawn just to spook the horses."

"The horses!" Felicity whipped around, worried; Blossom was still asleep, but Patriot was shifting restlessly. She hurried to him and rubbed her palms soothingly over his neck. "There, now, 'twas only Ben being foolish again."

Ben started to argue, winced, and smiled. "I see you're determined to blame me. Well, then, off to a subject that perhaps I won't be buried under. Why _are_ you here so early, Lissie?"

"I don't quite know," Felicity replied. "To find an inch of quiet before the chores dump on me, I suppose." She grimaced, knowing that she sounded bitter.

But Ben understood. "I'll go back up if you wish me to, Lissie."

"No! I need . . . someone to talk to. There aren't enough people to talk to these days."

Ben sat on the lowest rung of the ladder to his loft. "Because Elizabeth is gone."

"Aye." As with last year, her friend was spending the holidays waltzing and flirting and away from Felicity. She knew that she shouldn't hate Elizabeth for it, and she didn't, but Felicity couldn't stop feeling abandoned. "She asked her father if I could come with her, but the circumstances being what they are . . ."

Ben frowned. He never had reconciled himself to Mr. Cole's loyalist standing; Elizabeth, he had grown to like, but his encounters with her father had been minimal. Felicity took a breath to steer the conversation a different direction, but suddenly Ben was standing and grinning.

"Well, we'll have a party better than any _they _could ever have. Did—" he paused, considering, and then plunged ahead, "—did Old Tobe tell you what he taught me?"

"Yes," said Felicity cautiously.

"Then mademoiselle, I have the perfect solution. Mistress Merriman, would you do me the honor of this dance?" Adopting a comically formal expression, Ben bowed low and held out his hand. Felicity stuck her nose in the air and curtsied deeply.

"Indeed, Mr. Davidson, I believe I shall."

"Good." Mischief etched onto every inch of his face, he swept her hand up to his lips and kissed the knuckles. Something shivery jolted through Felicity, and she felt herself tremble, but Ben apparently hadn't noticed.

"What dance shall it be, Mistress Merriman? Your wish is my command."

"Why, the Virginia Reel! Do we not live in the best of countries?"

"Very well, then." Ben nodded the invisible couples on his right and left and then took Felicity's hands in his own. They were firm and strong and enveloped Felicity's completely.

The stable was not large, and so they had to stand quite close together, especially for some of the twirls and longer steps. Felicity could hardly speak at first, but soon she forgot to be self-conscious and let herself flow into the movements of the dance. After one particularly lively turn, she found herself laughing breathlessly, and realized she was having more fun than she'd had in a long time.

Near the end of it they slowed, traveling less and less until they were all but at a standstill, merely rocking back and forth to the rhythm of the nonexistent beat. She laid her head against his chest, liking the warmth and the way she could hear his heartbeat almost close enough to touch.

"What are you thinking now, Miss Felicity?" His voice was quiet, all traces of the mocking airs gone. She sighed.

"I'm thinking that I wish I could take this moment, right here, and put it in a box to keep with me at all times. Then whenever I was feeling blue I could bring it out and make myself happy again."

He let out a great breath. "Aye. I also . . . Lissie?"

"Yes?" She lifted her chin to look at him, and then all at once he was kissing her.

_Oh!_ Was all her startled brain managed before sensation took over everything. The taste of oranges, and the smell of spice and cedar, and his hands on her waist— No! She shouldn't, she mustn't!

Felicity recoiled, sending a knife of pain up her neck, and tore away from a moment more, still expecting the returned pressure of her mouth, he continued forward; then he noticed and leapt back. The bend of his finger caught the loop of her ribbon and tugged it out as he stumbled against the wall; her hair tumbled down around her back and shoulders and in that instant before he blinked it away, before it was replaced with a look of utter horror for what he had done, she saw it in his eyes.

Desire.

Now just as sense had overwhelmed her before she was aware only of fear, of fear of him, of what he wanted. Of what she couldn't admit but she suspected, what fogged her mind and throat as she tried to deny it; that it made her feel wonderful and powerful and, and alive, and that _she_ wanted _him._

He reached out a hand to her, the hand with the ribbon. "Lissie, I . . ."

She slapped him. It was not a conscious decision, but rather as if she watched someone else's arm reach out and someone else's palm crack across his left cheek, snapping his head sideways. Only the sting of the impact convinced her that it was indeed she who had moved.

"Don't," she whispered, "Call me Lissie."

Then she fled.

.

**About the use of the word **_**hey**__: _**(1) it comes from an Elizabethan "hei" and (2) it was used in the Southern states first of all those in America.**


	10. Misunderstanding

Misunderstanding

_Why do we go dancing in circles,  
When we know it never ends?  
We come so close  
To loving each other and then . . .  
we go dancing in circles again_

_~"Dancing In Circles," Love and Theft_

* * *

Out, out of the stable, of the terrible sides that closed in around her and the ground that tipped beneath her feet, the air stifling with animals and leather, the . . .

"Lis— Felicity!"

The word crashed over her, tumbling the grass and the sky and the porch upside down and inside out and sideways. A trickle of rationality told her that she was being stupid, and she turned back; the sight of Ben's anguished face sent her spinning again.

"Felicity?"

There was someone at the top of the stairs and it wasn't Ben, but that was all she could tell. Her room echoed strangely as she ran into it, and yet it was too small— she wanted to be miles from everything, where things were clear and she could think. But as Felicity stepped towards the door she felt her arms and legs become heavy, weary. It took every scrap of her strength to stumble to her bed, where she could clamp the pillow down over her ears and hear only the dark and the merciful, beautiful quiet.

Something pounded on her door. Muffled voices scrambled in the hall, frantic slippers struck the floorboards sharply. Felicity ignored it all and concentrated on inhaling, on slowing the tremors in her hands and fixing the world to where it belonged.

Gradually, the shouts died away and Felicity dared to uncover her head. She lay there with her eyes shut tightly, trying to figure out why she had reacted so violently. Her lips buzzed, as if a nest of bees had moved in. It was not a particularly unpleasant feeling (in fact much to the contrary), but to think about it made her heart lurch and her stomach feel sick. She pressed her palms to her cheeks, feeling how they were hot and sensitive despite the biting cold.

Felicity flipped over and stared up at the underside of her canopy, steepling her fingers around her nose. Her breath still came in short gasps, though they had quieted somewhat; her limbs still twitched and shook. Again, she attempted a coherent thought, but it was buried under a clamor of hysterical mental images and emotional seasickness.

She wanted to reach for the curtains, to shut herself in, but her arms were like wood and she couldn't move them. So she stayed and watched the pattern on the cloth above her, and kept her throat clenched for fear a sob should break out.

It seemed much later by the time Felicity had calmed down. She awoke slowly, not having remembered drifting off, and swallowed past the sticky feeling in her mouth. Her gown was drenched in sweat. As if in a dream, she slid her feet to the rug and plucked at lacings until the woolen shell billowed around her ankles, transfixing her for a moment with its unconscious grace. Her skin felt very tender.

There was a solid block in the middle of her brain that thoughts shied away from, and it took Felicity much coaxing and perseverance to soften it. _Why _had she run? 'Twasn't anything frightening. Only Ben. Ben. She dug her palms into the sides of her jaw, absentmindedly noting that the missing cap was dangling from the windowsill.

Her eyes filled with tears then, and she had to sit down lest she be overcome completely. _Stop it, Felicity,_ she ordered herself, and scowled until the danger was past. She was acting like one of those foolish girls who tittered around the carpenter's son, fluttering their lashes and pretending to be fascinated with carved railings.

A quiet knock came from the direction of the door. Mrs. Merriman entered, carrying a tray with a cup and a plate of soup. Her shoes whispered across the space between them: _sshh-sshh, hush-hush, mother's here._

"Oh, my pretty Lissie." Mrs. Merriman set the tray on the vanity and pulled Felicity into her embrace, stroking the tangled mess of hair that fell down her back. Felicity waited to have to squelch in her crying, but none threatened. She was too exhausted.

"What happened, Felicity?" Felicity shook her head and clutched handfuls of her mother's dress, knuckles scraping against the bones of her stays. Mrs. Merriman didn't press and simply continued to hold her.

When her daughter had been calm for some time, Mrs. Merriman asked, "Was it Ben?"

Felicity jumped, startled, and Mrs. Merriman rubbed her shoulders until she relaxed. "Dear, he came in right after you, looking as if he'd just accidentally murdered his grandfather. He was quite adamant that he be able to speak to you— " Felicity jerked again "—hush, now, we sent him away, but 'twas obvious that he thought he'd done something wrong."

Felicity turned her face away, not wanting her mother to see the flush of guilt that rose to her cheeks. How could she explain to Ben that it hadn't been his fault at all? Yet a part of her was glad that he'd taken the blame. Oh, how could people _stand _to have such muddled-up emotions! 'Twas no wonder Mr. Bortner only saw his wife on Sundays.

"Felicity," repeated Mrs. Merriman, and this time her voice was firm. "You don't have to tell me what's going on— indeed, I wouldn't expect it— but you and Ben do need to talk sometime in the near future."

Felicity couldn't catch her mother's eye.

"Well, Lissie, you've had an excitement of a morning. Eat your soup and drink your chocolate." Guiding Felicity to the chair, Mrs. Merriman kept up a stream of light, meaningless conversation while Felicity ate, even wheedling out a smile with her relentless cheer. "I'll leave you this day to yourself," she said. "You've been working too hard. 'Tis nearly Christmastide. Enjoy yourself."

Sadness flickered once behind her eyes when Felicity merely nodded, and though her farewell was gentle, Felicity's neck knotted with shame. She hadn't wanted to cause her mother worry . . . almost, she revealed everything, at the last moment biting it back. Her mother had no right to be upset.

She heard Mother's soft voice over the rustle of skirts at the doorway. "Nan," she said, and then a murmur. Someone else responded in a matching tone. Felicity prodded dully at the side of her bowl, sending ripples through the dregs of soup. A hand appeared, not hers, to move the tray out of reach.

"Mother doesn't want me to be in here." Nan settled Felicity's footstool next to the vanity. Felicity looked at her.

The semblance of merriment dropped from her sister's face. "Lissie, you're scaring us. Polly is in tears. None of us know what went on this morning with you and Ben— that's all we've gotten, that it was you and Ben, and something went on. No, don't get up. Mother may think 'tis better to let you handle this, but I won't let you frighten the little ones."

Hunching, as if to shield herself from attack, Felicity gathered her hair into a tail and searched for a ribbon. Fresh, because the one that she had been wearing . . . she dug her thumbnail into her palm.

Why was Nan so much more . . . ordered than she was? Why was she so composed and logical when Felicity wasn't? Nan would _never_ get herself into this situation. She couldn't possibly understand. So why was it that when her sister said _Stop that, you'll make it worse_, produced a comb as if by magic, and began brushing out her knots, Felicity found herself answering _I thought I'd go to see Patriot?_

"Hm?" Nan shifted for a better reach, and her head slid into the mirror next to Felicity's.

"'Twas very cold."

"Outside?"

"In the stable."

"Ah." A particularly stubborn snarl seemed to be taking most of Nan's attention. Felicity was grateful.

"And there was hay. And it was beautiful in the sunrise."

"Hm."

"And it smelled— so nice. And . . ."

"Go on."

"And I was afraid that we'd startled the horses, and then there was dancing and he . . . we . . ." Felicity covered her mouth, unable to continue. The hurricane was rising within her again; she fought it, fought it, but a drop escaped down her cheek.

The reflection of Nan's face had turned white. "He didn't . . . you're still . . . I mean," she cleared her throat nervously. "If—"

"No!" cried Felicity, horrified, grasping what Nan was trying to say. "No! Nothing like that. How could you think such a thing?"

Decidedly relieved, Nan picked up the comb again. "You must imagine how it looked, Lissie. You come tearing in the door, hair down and crying, with Ben hot on your tail and his shirt half out of his breeches and you're both covered in hay. Mother's sure there's another explanation, but she can't think what."

"No!" In an agony of embarrassment, Felicity pulled away from Nan's brushing and cupped her palms over the heat rushing up her spine. She felt suddenly too large for her chair. "No, no! 'Twas . . .'twas . . . he kissed me, Nan, and I ran away!"

"Lissie, _why_?"

"I don't know! Because I'm stupid! Because I didn't know what to do! Because it's _Ben_!"

"And why is that bad?"

"Because, oh, because everything is too fast and too bright and too loud, and I wish I were ten again and none of this had ever happened. You shouldn't have to care for me, you're my _younger sister_, I—" she broke off.

"Hush," said Nan, exactly as Mother had. Felicity gave a half-sob, half-laugh, and let her sister take the ribbon and begin to tie back her hair. "May I tell you what I think?"

"Aye." A whisper. A plea.

"I think you have to explain this to the others. Not all of it, if you don't want to," she added when Felicity stiffened, "but _do_ reassure them. I wasn't lying when I said you've scared them. And you have to go to Ben tomorrow. Not today. Tomorrow, when you've composed yourself. He's at Mr. Nye's."

"What?"

"Well he couldn't very well stay here," said her sister irritably. Felicity grinned at how _Nan_-ish she sounded. "Mr. Nye was kind enough to agree to give him a room until things had smoothed over."

"Nan. Sensible Nan." Felicity turned and hugged her. "I'm sorry."

"Lissie, you needn't apologize," Nan said. "It's always been you who comforts the rest of us. 'Tis about time we did the same."


	11. For We Had Known a Happy Face

For We Had Known a Happy Face

_For we had known a happy face_

_And hadn't seen the tears_

* * *

_To realize the truth can be the best joy known to humankind_

_Or it can be the deepest agony_

_The answer lies in what you choose to ignore_

_And what you do with what you've left behind_

* * *

It was a very nervous Felicity that waited outside of Jiggy Nye's house that next morning, shooting quick glances at the door as if it were a snake about to bite her. Her hair was firmly bundled up beneath a clean cap, and her straw hat tied tightly atop that; she had spent a good hour and a half deciding whether or not to wear the hat, with the result that it was almost noon when she had finally set foot on the street. Not for the first time, she found herself grateful that Jiggy lived a ways from the tannery. The stench that accompanied the place would be too much to deal with on this day.

Again, she steeled herself to knocking, at the last minute snatching back her fist and tucking it into her cloak. White clouds of her breath rose up before her, and she forced herself to calm down. _You promised Nan, _she thought sternly, and that as nothing else had drove her to action. Mr. Nye's face appeared a few seconds later. He snorted and beckoned her in.

"Ye've come for your young man, haven't ye, lass." There was no point in denying; Felicity nodded. "Well he's at the room at the end of the hall. I've a word to have with ye, before you go."

Felicity, who had indeed turned in the direction he pointed, looked at him apprehensively. She'd been afraid of this.

"Now, I don't know exactly what happened 'twixt ye and that lad, and—" he held up a finger "—I'm not asking. But 'tis only right that ye should know a few things first, before ye talk to him." His eyes were sharp and penetrating. Felicity's hands went up to clasp at her chest.

"Benjamin's hurt, lass, more than he'll ever tell." Mr. Nye shook his head to stop Felicity's guilty flinch. "'Tis not your fault. 'Tis something men do to themselves. Be not surprised if he is changed from last ye saw him."

"How changed?" asked Felicity, mouth dry.

"That be the problem." He sighed. "I cannot say. I can see naught but that there is a deep wound in him. Lass . . ." he made as if to catch her hand, but restrained himself. "He cares about ye. I would not lightly brush that away."

The heated retort died on Felicity's tongue. There was something in Mr. Nye's expression that she had seen only once or twice before, and he had changed the subject immediately after. She couldn't explain what it was. But it made her nod and meet his eyes squarely.

"Go on then, lass," said Mr. Nye, gentle. "He's waiting for ye."

The hall was dark. Felicity let the shadows slide past her, soothe her, harden her resolve. Around the door that Ben was behind was a thin line of sunlight, a message: _after this, you cannot go back. _Felicity pushed it open.

The room was bigger than she had expected, and fancier. Silver candlesticks drew attention to an ornate mantelpiece, hung with red velvet; embroidered cushions of the same hue graced the seats of twin darkwood chairs; a rug patterned with yellow flowers brushed the toes of heavy curtains. Yet for all its finery, it was a cold, sad room. Dust clung to the corners and cobwebs drooped from sills and bedposts. Everything was whole but faded, proud but crumbled: phantoms of a former happiness.

And in the middle, on the bedspread, sat Ben. His arms were wrapped around his chest, and his head was turned away. He wore his coat.

"Good day, Miss Merriman," he said.

"Ben," started Felicity, and hesitated. Truth be told, she had not thought beyond the point of seeing him. Now she had not the slightest idea what she was going to say to him.

"Why are you here?" His voice was dull, dead. Felicity felt the heat of tears— _again!_— beginning to gather, and blinked to push them down. _Nonsense, Lissie. Nothing to cry about. You've barely begun._

"I asked you a question, Miss Merriman. Will you answer it?"

Felicity sucked air in sharply, keeping her anger from rising. It would not do to lose her temper now. She remembered Mr. Nye's words, and used them against the injustice of Ben's tone. "I've come about what happened yesterday."

"Nothing happened. I made a mistake. Obviously." Ben had still not turned to look at her.

The words burned. Felicity pretended not to feel them. "Ben, I cannot say for you, but 'twas not your fault that I—"

"Yes, it was!" Ben's head snapped up, fists clenching on his knees. "Of course it was! I did it! Me! You only reacted as any woman would, who was assaulted in such a way!"

"'Twasn't an assault," protested Felicitiy, ignoring the prickle of fear that pinched her neck. For it had surely felt like one . . . but no, 'twas only her own whirlwind calling it so.

"Perhaps not." Throwing his hands to the side, as if casting out the unimportant detail, Ben went on, "And I'm supposed to take from this that I am guiltless, and that this was all a misunderstanding between friends?"

Felicity frowned. "Well no, not exactly, though—"

"There!" He stood. "There's the problem! You think that you, we can smooth this all over, talk about it and then forget that it's ever happened! Isn't that right? And all the while I'm to sit and smile politely and say some kind things about you, and some bad things about myself, and you're to comfort me and then at the end we can be right back where we were before Monday!"

She was falling, falling, a hole opened up beneath her feet. This was not how this was supposed to go. She didn't know how it _was, _but she knew it wasn't this— and she flinched away from the truth that dug small splinters into her heart, that yes, she would have liked things to proceed exactly as Ben was saying.

"And maybe you can do that. But I can't. Because I know, I have to live with it. Felicity . . ." Ben closed his hand around the bedpost, tight enough to make the wood creak. "Felicity, you don't understand, you can't understand. I had thought that yesterday, before—" he couldn't bring himself to say it. "But no, you don't."

"What, Ben, what? If you keep talking in riddles then I'll_ never_ understand!" This time, she couldn't hold on to all her anger; some of it slipped out, frustration creeping around her barricades. "I came here to work out whatever this is—"

"And did you come by yourself? Of your own idea? No, that isn't fair," Ben said, but her flinch told him the answer anyway. "There will always be someone between us, don't you see? Your mother, your father, your sister, your brother. Yourself. Felicity—!" but he shut his eyes.

The pause went long, and then too long, Felicity trying to think what to do to break it. She almost missed Ben's whisper; it was very quiet.

"Felicity," he repeated. "Felicity. Shall I explain it to you? Surely you can't be blind to it. But maybe you are."

Afraid to stop him by replying, Felicity pushed her tongue against her upper teeth and strained to listen.

"Look at you. Felicity. You're a very pretty woman, you know that? I'd never considered that you should be unattached, two years ago. You were a nice enough child, but that was different."

What was this? What was he saying? She should be embarrassed, she knew, but that part of her mind had gone numb.

"I hadn't thought that you'd have grown, you know? Stupid of me. But every time I'd thought of you, you were eleven, my younger sister. And then—" he sighed. "Felicity, you don't know the power that you have, the potential. Don't you see? I can tell that 'tis you walking down the hallway without having to look. I can hear that 'tis you speaking, even when the words are stifled by distance or walls. I can sense your presence before you get to me, even when you're far away, and when you're close—" Ben stopped, wet his lips, continued. "Constant restraint is grueling, the most difficult thing a man . . . _I've_ ever done. But I had to, so I did. Why? Because of this," and he made a chopping motion in mid-air, a humorless bark of a laugh cutting where his hand did not. "And I was right. I regret my actions of yesterday. I will not sully your ears with what I wanted to do to you that morning."

Unsure of what to do, unwilling to accept what he was saying, Felicity's legs wavered. The chairs were too far away. She sagged against the doorframe.

Ben was speaking again. "Oh, I can tell what you're thinking. 'No,' you're saying, and 'Nonsense, that can't be true, Ben's over-reacting.' You wonder why I won't open my eyes, if what I'm saying is true. I'll answer you. Then you'll finally know that this is real. I don't look at you, Miss Merriman, not because I don't want to, but because I fear I want to too much."

A small, tight ball in Felicity's chest that had been there since the day before was suddenly gone. _Ahh, _she thought, though it was more of an impression than a reflection. How could she believe this? It was madness. It was more than the situation, more than one kiss was worth. Her mind flew over her own response to that incident, and she was ashamed that she should be so self-centered, so sure that this was a momentary affliction that she could heal, that was only a problem of hers. She did not know what to do, or what to tell herself. She did not know even how she felt. But at last she understood what Ben was trying to say, what he had been saying for months and months. He loved her. And she had refused to see.

"Ben," she murmured, lifting her eyes to him. He was seated once more on the bed, in the same position she had found him in. A pang of sorrow went through her chest. "Ben . . ." He turned away.

So quietly, though silence was useless, she raised herself on broken pride and left the room with the ghosts of a memory and the demons of a human man.


	12. Letters Again

Letters Again

Jiggy Nye was waiting for her as she came down the hall. The gnarled wooden table wobbled threateningly as he leaned his elbows on it.

"Need to fix that," he grunted, and then in an unconvincingly light tone: "How'd it go, lass?"

Felicity swallowed and nodded. She didn't quite trust herself to speak.

Nye squinted at her, undeceived, but said "That's fine, then. I wonder, lass, if ye wouldn't mind doing me a favor? I wouldn't ask, but it involves the rather delicate subject ye just finished talking with."

_Of course. Didn't everything these days? _"What is it?"

"There be a parcel of letters that he wants. Says they're important. Tied up in a green ribbon, he says. I'd get it myself, but—" Mr. Nye raised his eyebrows, "—one, 'tisnt my place to go poking around in your mother's house, and two, I'd rather that whatever this is stayed between the two of ye."

Again, Felicity nodded. Nye's expression was passing dangerously close to concern. She held her neck rigid and blurred her eyes, letting everything droop and melt into splotches of color.

"Will ye get them then?"

"Yes."

"Good," he said with obvious relief. Felicity made towards the door but at the last moment, Nye halted her with a word. "Lass . . ."

Felicity waited.

"Remember that yer both upset, that's all." He moved away. Now in serious danger of losing control, Felicity bobbled her head a third time and bolted for the street.

The stable was just as she had left it. In fact, the similarity was disconcerting; no one had been in there since The Incident. Not even, noted Felicity hastily, to feed the horses. That was the first order of business. Then she picked up the pitchfork and began re-stacking the hay. When that was finished, she rubbed down Patriot until he gleamed and polished his tack. After that, it was of vital importance to comb through the stable twice more, twisting up the particles of hay that she'd missed the first time around and stuffing them inside the stack. And then, of course, that looked messy, so she had to smooth it over.

_You're putting it off, _said a voice inside her head. Felicity ignored it. It got louder.

Biting her lip, Felicity studied the ladder up to the loft in the same way she had studied Jiggy Nye's door earlier that day. For like that door, this led to something of which she was wary, unprepared, and yes, afraid. She blinked and Ben was there, leaning against it, hanging from the top, sitting with his feet hooked under the bottom rung. Laughing, smiling, serious, and then what she had seen all too often in the past years: anger, hurt, aggression.

Love.

_Augh!_

Before she could dissuade herself any more, Felicity wrapped her fingers around the sides of the ladder and swung herself up. In the two seconds of ascent she attacked the wood with vehemence, gathering handfuls of splinters but gaining a brief respite from the tumult of her thoughts in the whirl of violence. Only when she had wrestled the last of her skirts up through the rough hole in the floor did she stop and take breath, glaring at the knotholes beneath her feet.

The loft was higher than Penny's back, and much less secure. The third board Felicity stepped on groaned and shook under her weight, making her retreat to where she had come in. _How can anyone live up here?_ Thin cracks revealed strips of the stable floor when she looked down, uncomfortably far away.

My, but she'd gotten timid. Hadn't she once stood on nothing more steady then a pair of shoulders to peer over a wall? She certainly hadn't worried about falling then, and she wouldn't now. Nor would she notice that everything, _everything _came back to Ben. Her hands on her hips, to show that she didn't care, Felicity clomped across the floor—stomach swooping in fear as she skidded off the loose board, despite all she'd told herself— and came to rest on the pine-green rug that covered half of the loft. She was dead center of the small living area—and she'd never, Felicity realized with a jolt, been here before. Ben had seen inside every one of the house's rooms, including her own, and it hadn't been an issue; it would have been stranger if he hadn't, so much was he a part of the family. But somehow Felicity had neglected to wonder or care what Ben lived like.

She wished now that she had. It was a quiet spot, simple, peaceful. A square window was cut into the sloping ceiling above the tightly made bed; Felicity saw at once that if one lay with their head on the pillow at night, they would be able to watch the stars. The contradiction—scattered beauty and military precision—brought a lump to her throat. Clamping her teeth together, she raked her eyes around her for a likely storage place. Passing over the battered desk, thin bookcase, and squashed blue chair, she lit upon a mid-size trunk bundled into a corner.

_This looks just the thing, _she thought, reaching for it. Some lingering trepidation made her hover above it for a long moment, unsure; then she thrust away her inhibitions and flung up the lid.

She'd expected a mismatch of things, old quills and dusty stones, small items of sentimental value with a few pages peeking out here and there. Instead, the trunk was full to the brim, _crammed, _really, with letters. And not disorganized or mismatched; careful rows of folded paper, separated into bundles by different colored ribbons, marched across the inside and pushed into the soft wood surrounding them. Taken aback (it _was _a _lot _of letters), Felicity began pawing through them for those tied up in green. She was not successful in quashing the feeling that she was trespassing.

After it quickly proved impossible, she abandoned the attempt not to disturb anything and began systematically taking out a packet, reaffirming that the ribbon wasn't green, and tossing it to the side. Try as she might not to pry, her curiosity kept itching at her to open the letters and read them, and so she became ashamed and flustered. It was also peculiar to see Ben's name flashing in front of her, gliding under her fingertips again and again: _Ben Davidson, Mr. Davidson, Benjamin, B. Davidson, To My Friend Ben. _Felicity shivered. There was an intimacy to touching these letters, and unconsciously she found herself grabbing at it, even as her guilt rose and grew.

_You don't understand._

Near the bottom of the trunk she came across a bundle that was fatter than most, and in worse repair. It was so smudged that she had to spend several minutes poring over it, knotting her brow at the possible shade of the fabric, and it was not until she brought it close to her face (_red, it must be…)_ that she realized—

_Oh my!_

To Ben Davidson

9th Virginia

From Felicity Merriman

(Here a large blot)

And the rest of the Merrimans too

Her first letter.

There was no denying herself this time. The ribbon that might have been red fluttered to the floor, forgotten, and with a sigh the pile of letters collapsed into Felicity's lap. As if in a daze, she lifted them, one by one, turning them over and holding each up to the light. Here were smudges of ash. Here muddy fingerprints. Here five letters were half-blackened, burned almost away. Here crusted stains of a nature that didn't bear contemplation.

_He saved them._

Of course, Mr. Crouse had told her that months ago. But she somehow hadn't connected that to the thought that if he'd had them then he must still have them now. She should have guessed from the wide array of other correspondence spread around her, and yet . . . to hold them in her hands, unmistakable, was something. Felicity eased backwards until she was propped against the wall, still clutching the letters—_her_ letters— in her hands.

_Ben _. . .

She pressed the packet to her chest, cradling it as one would a newborn babe. Why was this? Why every time she thought she could handle this, he revealed some new way to unbalance her? Oh, that wasn't fair. He'd never expected her to see these. He'd told _Mr. Nye _to get letters for him, and not even these. Actually, considering how he'd just acted, he'd probably gone to great lengths to make sure that these never so much as crossed her mind. But it had happened nonetheless.

The voice in her head spoke again, reminded her that he had not thought of these as love-letters but as greetings from a sibling. That too sent a pang through her. She didn't _want _to be his sister, Felicity admitted with a gasp; it was figuring out what she _did _want to be that was causing her trouble. She only hoped that, when she did know, it wasn't too late.

Abruptly she recalled her real purpose, and resumed rifling through the trunk with renewed vigor. At last she came upon the green ribbon. Spurred by the carelessness the discovery of her own letters had left in its wake, she slipped a letter free and unfolded it to check the signature, for it was not displayed upon the front. Haffner. Mrs. Haffner. Felicity was not surprised, though she had heard the name but once. _I wonder what he wants with her? No. I've betrayed his privacy enough today._

Retying _her_ letters, Felicity packed up the trunk and arranged it where it had been. Mrs. Haffner's bundle she tucked into her pocket, for with the end of her task she had been struck with a surge of restlessness. Hopping over the treacherous board, she scrambled down the ladder, eager to be off.

.

**Felicity HAS only heard the name Haffner once; saying it herself to Crouse doesn't count.**

**Blue and green are Feng Shui "relaxation" colors, apparently.**


	13. Fever

Fever

It was something out of a story.

Except that while yes, it was properly nighttime-black outside, there was neither rain nor thunder, no rattling shutters or shaking roof-tiles. Cold it was, and still, but that did not follow the tale's path either; 'twas not the stale or terror of a grave, but nauseous anticipation.

And now the pounding on the door.

It had been a week since she had pushed the letters through the crack in the door Ben refused to come out of. She had wanted to grab onto his fingers, hold them, keep them there for she knew not what, but they flashed once in the sunlight and were gone. Impossible to catch as rising smoke.

Often, Felicity had tried to sit and think on what had passed. Every time, she only succeeded in twisting up her stomach, until she felt like a child's sleeve straining over a grown man's arm: pulled too tight, about to burst.

As she had sought to avoid work before, now she threw herself into it with a single-minded intensity that frightened her mother and siblings, though this she did not realize. The monotone of scrubbing, of cooking, of hanging sprigs of Christmas greenery along the window-frames served to fill the hours that otherwise would find her pacing to and fro, her hands fluttering around her neck. She did not smile.

The pounding came a second time, louder. The creak of a mattress and the shuffle of tired feet on wooden stairs.

The explanation to her mother had taken the longest. Perceptive as she was loving, Mrs. Merriman had not entirely believed her eldest daughter's words—well that she did not, for Felicity left out much that was important. Perhaps there are things that a mother need not hear, but in making the effort to conceal the true gravity of what had occurred did Felicity in fact reveal it. William was an easier sell, in awe as he was of the steadfast Patriot-officer, who had fought so bravely; Nan, of course, knew all that was to be told. Polly understood nothing but that Felicity was upset and Ben was gone. Some precocious sensitivity stayed her asking Felicity what had happened, though she did not carry that courtesy over to the rest of the family.

Sighs and murmurs from the landing.

"_But why?" _Had been the question she'd overheard, again and again. _"Why?" _Why, indeed. Was that not her constant companion? Hanging above her head, whispering in her ears with the sly persistence of a snake. Taking on Nan's voice, as she had said it that first day, or Ben's, or her own. Why, why, why? She had no answer in her heart that she could find, try as she did to grasp it; she was yet afraid of what she might catch.

She was five, clambering up a mound of sand along the seaside; for every step forward, she slid three steps back.

Other voices joined the two that had been downstairs, sharp and urgent. For the first time, Felicity felt a stirring to join them. She turned her head in the direction of the hallway, listening.

So many mornings and evenings of late had been spent in mental turmoil, not decisive action. 'Twas frustrating for everyone. Felicity knew that she must move, but she found herself caged in walls of stone; when she lifted her foot, they closed in.

_Tomorrow. _As she had told herself every night for a week. _Tomorrow, I will do something. _And as she had every night, she meant it.

Scraping of furniture, a _crash! _and a _clatter!_ of things overturned. Felicity could no more feign sleep. Her family would be wondering why she did not appear. Nonetheless, she hesitated a moment; a sudden deep aversion to the goings-on came over her, even as she lay in ignorance.

Felicity eased out of bed, a gasp escaping as her quilt slipped away. The string had come loose on her nightshift, and her bare shoulder rippled with gooseflesh. The touch of the iced air felt personal, invasive, and at once Felicity was aware of the emptiness the darkness held. Never before had she been fearful, as some are, about what happened when the lights went out. She clutched her arms tightly now and shuddered. Whatever it was that had roused the household was evil.

Then, quickly so that she couldn't talk herself out of it, Felicity flew to the hall and down the stairs, making for the faint glow of candlelight she saw 'round the corner. The voices became no more intelligible as she neared them, but louder and more frantic.

Past the corner, 'cross the carpet, skidding to a stop before a scene that seemed frozen in time. Mrs. Merriman, Nan, and William were clustered around a stooped figure, which was holding a burning lantern before it. The expressions she could see were those of horror and shock. They swam before her eyes, spinning in and out of focus. Felicity's knees went weak.

Then Jiggy Nye raised his head and uttered the words that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

"Ben is sick," he said. _"And he's been asking for ye."_

* * *

"What happened?"

They were running through the streets, splashing through the slush and mud. Or rather, Felicity was running—Mr. Nye was having some trouble keeping up.

"Jest a couple hours ago," he wheezed, pushing a hand to his ribs. Later, Felicity would feel bad. "Woke up because I heard moaning coming from his room. When I opened the door, he was covered in sweat, tossing and turning. I couldn't get him to calm down nor to wake up."

"And?"

"I tried everything. Heat. Cold. Water. Pinching. Even slapped him. Nothing helped. He'd torn clean through the bed sheets and splintered the footboard with his kicking."

"And?" Later Felicity would feel her sodden toes, her frozen ears and fingers. Now, she did not even realize that she was shivering. She had not waited to put on a cloak or shoes before dashing out onto the street.

"I didn't know what to do. I was about to leave for the doctor when he sat up and, plain as day, said your name. Couldn't get another word out of him after that, so I went to get ye." Nye paused for breath. He was gasping badly.

"You left him _alone_?"

"Lass!" She had never thought of Jiggy Nye as particularly strong, but when he grabbed her his grip was iron. "There was no one to leave with him!"

"Then _hurry up_!" Shrugging away, Felicity put on a fresh burst of speed. His words kept resounding in her head.

_People don't ask for you unless they're dying._

Rational thought would not make an appearance that night.

She was at Jiggy Nye's door; she had her hand on the knob, yanking and pulling; she was in, across the floor, _bang! _into the room where Ben was.

He was whimpering and crying out, his shirt plastered to his chest with perspiration. His limbs thrashed back and forth, churning up mountains in the blankets, and his hands became claws to rake against the mattress. Felicity stood over him, panic forcing its way up her throat. _What can I do?_

"Lass!" Mr. Nye stumbled in, panting. "I'm going to get Mr. Galt!"

Felicity heard, but did not spare him a glance or a nod. She tried to force Ben's arms down to his sides, but he was too strong. Wrestling with him proved useless. Spotting a glass of water on a table, Felicity ripped a strip from the sheet and soaked it, laying it on Ben's brow and cheek; his head jerked and threw it off. Felicity put it back on and climbed up onto the pillows, holding his head still in her lap, staring down at his pained face because to look away would be unthinkable. A barely audible chant streamed forth from her lips: _Ben, Ben, calm down, come back to me, Ben, please, please, Ben. Hold on. Come back. You're safe. _

_Bang!_ Another someone—_two_ other someones—sprang up beside her. Felicity heard her mother's voice, and her brother's. Mrs. Merriman sat down in a chair beside the bed and took out a rope.

"You have to tie him down." Her voice was calm. "Lissie. Listen. You have to tie him down or he will hurt himself." Felicity, horrified, looked up; only her mother's eyes betrayed how concerned she was.

Mrs. Merriman reached for Ben's left arm, and his fist caught her in the jaw. She reeled back ("Mother!" shouted Felicity), took a deep breath, and dove forth again. William hastened to secure Ben's other arm. Felicity took her hands out of Ben's hair and pressed down on his shoulders, struggling to hold them in place.

All three of them were bruised and battered by the time Ben had been secured. He still struggled, but to no avail. William, obviously terrified but trying to hide it, tucked the blanket again around him.

Felicity had resumed her place at Ben's head and was repeating his name over and over under her breath. Vaguely she heard her mother ripping the rest of the sheet up. Something cool and moist appeared at the fresh bruise around her own right eye. Until then she had not registered the hurt.

Another wet cloth pushed its way into her hand. She dabbed it across Ben's lips, then swapped it for the now-warm one at his brow. Already his struggles had diminished. Felicity was aware of her mother's presence beside her, handing her fresh cloths, tending to the new and painful marks on her skin— but just barely.

After some time, the apothecary came in and examined Ben thoroughly. He shook his head, pulled a bottle of quinine out of his bag, and told them that this was something that would have to run its course. The bottle was to help, but it was not an immediate cure. A dose was administered; there was a tense moment when Ben almost choked, but he got it down all right.

"What can I do?" It was William who spoke, a handkerchief wrapped around the wrist he was holding gingerly. His voice was quiet.

"Go home," said Mrs. Merriman firmly. "Sleep, if you can. Lissie and I— and Mr. Nye— will be fine. Come here in the morning if I am not back by then."

Will hesitated, then nodded and left the room. Mrs. Merriman sighed and rubbed her temple.

"Lissie," she said. "You should sleep too."

Felicity didn't respond. Her mother didn't press.

"Here, lass." Mr. Nye entered the room again, carrying folded blankets. He handed one to Mrs. Merriman and put the other around Felicity's shoulders, as Felicity seemed unlikely to get up and reach for it. Then Mr. Nye settled himself into a chair and tucked his chin into his chest. "I think—" he began, but Ben cried out and all attention fastened once more to him.

All through that night they toiled as Ben slid in and out of turmoil. None of them rested; Felicity barely moved from her position. Her legs were cramped and aching, but she pushed that aside. Also she pushed aside all thoughts of Ben's feelings, or her own, or what, if anything, there was or wasn't between them. She knew only that Ben must survive, must get through the night. Episodes of violence were frequent and fierce; only his bonds prevented serious injury from coming to himself and to those who tended him. It hurt Felicity more than her bruises did to see him trussed up, tied. All that kept her from untying him was the threat of injury to himself.

Towards morning Ben fell into a calmer, if still uneasy, sleep. He still mumbled, and shouted occasionally, but he no longer needed constant surveillance. Most of Felicity was relieved and glad that he had survived what seemed to be the worst, but a small part of her feared this quiet, also; who knew what was really going on? Perhaps his times of silence marked a deadly threat.

Will arrived shortly after, looking as if he hadn't slept a wink. In an undertone, he assured his mother that Polly was fine (Nan had stayed to look after her) and curious; he had not known what to tell her, and so had put her off until Mrs. Merriman could come home. Felicity's mother departed soon after, promising a quick return. William stood in the middle of the room, tossing his hat from side to side. Mr. Nye snored softly.

"Lissie," he said. "Really. I feel I must do something. If I don't, I'll go mad. Is there anything . . .?"

"I don't know." Felicity's voice broke. She sighed. "I don't know, Will. Look around. See if you can find anything . . . I don't know . . . a clue."

She had not expected Will to take her advice, but he started glancing around, looking under pillows and behind furniture. He took to his search with surprising ferocity. It was not long before he said, "Lissie?"

"Yes?"

"I found this." He held an opened letter out to her. Felicity recognized the ribbon; it was from Mrs. Haffner. Without qualms, now she took it and read it through, at least that much that her tired brain could process. It mentioned nothing of importance; it was from some months before.

"This," Felicity said slowly. "Is what he wanted. Why?"


	14. Breaking Point

Breaking Point

Felicity's optimistic thoughts after Ben's quiet morning proved short-lived. By noon, he'd begun to shudder again, and the night was as bad as the last.

Mrs. Merriman had returned to help again, a very relieved William hurrying out with orders to man the store. At another time, Felicity might have spared a thought for the sadness of his having to see Ben in such a state. She never would have considered that it was her hollow-eyed, grim, and half-senseless figure that had frightened him so.

For her part, Felicity remained either at Ben's bedside or cradling his head, her every gesture shining desperation. Increasingly, she was forced to get up and move around to ease the pain in her legs, but she would only circle the room quickly and then come back to rub Ben's hands where the ropes impeded his circulation, or force him to drink, or stroke the sweaty hair off his brow. Her mother watched her as she became more and more disheveled, her muscles more and more rigid until she was trembling from the strain. Finally, as the second sun peeked over the horizon, she took her daughter's hands.

"Lissie," she said softly. "You'll do nothing to help him if you make yourself sick, too."

Felicity shook her head, drawing her cheeks yet tighter, and bent again over Ben's right arm. He whimpered and flinched.

"Felicity Merriman." Mrs. Merriman grasped Felicity's chin, firmly, so she couldn't look away. "You have not slept for nearly thirty-four hours. You have not eaten in that time, nor taken any drink but for a few sips of tea, and that when I lifted the cup to you. If I let you continue this, you will not stop. It makes no matter if I sit up with Ben, or Mr. Nye, or you. He is delirious; he will not know which hands tend him."

"It's not that," whispered Felicity. Her eyes slid back over to the figure on the bed, but Mrs. Merriman shook her slightly to keep her attention.

"I have watched you grow from a wee, rumpled slip of a girl to the fine young lady you are today. I have seen you struggle to keep the store running, and to hide your worries from me. And it has not escaped me the kinship you have known with your father's apprentice of late."

"Mother . . ." Felicity plucked at one of the knots in Ben's rope, knowing she wouldn't be able to loosen it. "Please do not ask me to explain what I do not understand."

"I must, Felicity. This cannot go on. I think, at the very least, that you know why you are doing this. Tell me."

Her mother's voice was gentle, but Felicity turned away and did not answer.

"Tell me," repeated Mrs. Merriman, so calmly and tenderly that Felicity felt it like an ache in her chest; but it was another voice that answered.

"Because his life is the most important thing." Neither of them had heard Mr. Nye come up behind him, but he drew up a chair as if he had been there always. "Because if he dies, nothing could be worse, not even her own death. Because if she goes away, and he passes on, it will be her fault; and she will not have got to say good-bye."

Felicity did not react to Nye's words, unless it was that her hands shook more as she smoothed the blankets. But Mrs. Merriman looked in surprise at Jiggy Nye, and saw that his eyes were dry, though his face was graver than she had ever seen it. She knew suddenly why her daughter had adopted this broken old man, that had been so violently hated; like the sharp clarity of the winter morn dawning, she understood that he had provided for her as much of a friend's succor and stanchion as she had seen her daughter give him since she had first thanked him for delivering Patriot. He had become a sort of favorite uncle, and she the darling niece.

Mrs. Merriman gestured to the doorway, indicating that Mr. Nye follow. When she was sure that Felicity could not hear them, she said: "There is something you are not telling her."

The man sighed. "Aye. She is close to finding it, but I will not speed it coming."

"Will you tell me? I would know how to comfort her, if that is needed."

"It may well be." He pointed— Felicity would not turn to see— to the letter William had found, now lying on a table beside her. "There is a woman who helped him, after he was discharged from the hospital. He has written to ask her if there is a place in her hometown where he may live, once he has completed his contract with your husband."

"He told us of no hospital."

Mr. Nye looked at her strangely. "Is that so? He was open enough with me. And the woman is near as old as I am," he added, reading correctly the next question in her face. "I believe he see her much as he see ye: a second mother."

Mrs. Merriman glanced to her eldest child, and then back to Nye. "She will not like it when she finds out."

"Ye cannot take her trials for her, Mistress Merriman."

"Aye, but I wish I could."

And she went again to sit by Felicity, and aid her in tending the boy she had come to regard as her son, and pretend not to notice, though her heart broke for it, the fresh tears that her daughter turned her head to hide.

* * *

By the fourth day Felicity was in danger of falling victim to fatigue and despondency. Mr. Galt's quinine bottle was emptying at an alarming rate, and when he visited again he advised against using much more; taking too much would only make Ben worse, he said. Felicity, ever the shopkeeper's daughter, knew a different reason; even though large amounts of the medicine had been imported during the war, it was expensive and hard to come by.

Her mother refused to bring her coffee, not having given up, despite Mr. Nye's words, her efforts to make Felicity sleep. So Felicity, feeling more and more useless, continued to wet Ben's forehead and attempt to administer futile teas and murmur his name, over and over, in the vain hope that he would wake.

The others in the room— Mr. Nye, Mrs. Merriman, William and, she found out later, Nan and a friend of Ben's whom she had met but seldom— faded to wispy grey blurs around her, insubstantial even when they handed her cloths or lifted Ben up to drink. She began to lose the crippling fear and passionate hate of the monster attacking her friend as they required effort she could no longer muster. Felicity became a sort of blank wooden doll, following the same motions, conscious only of the fragile, stubborn goal of Ben's recovery. She did not allow herself to hope, for hope implied the possibility of failure. He _would _get well. He had to.

It was, then, perhaps understandable that the extra hubbub on that day went, to her, unnoticed.

She was concentrating at dribbling a thin stream of water between Ben's lips, and though she did not know it, scowling fiercely. Her eyes kept wanting to close. Slapping herself impatiently, Felicity tipped back the soldier's canteen she was holding (where had it come from? Ah, it did not matter) and pushed it back against her fingers. Nothing, nothing was helping, Ben was only getting worse, and she couldn't even wet his throat without splashing all over everything and soaking the mattress . . . and she was _so tired_, but still Ben burned . . . he would go up in flames before her, and there wasnothing she could do. The canteen slumped to the floor.

It was a long time before she was conscious that someone was calling her name. At first, she tried to ignore it, but it hammered against her skull louder and louder until she finally sat up. "What?"

The answer was distorted, incoherent. There seemed to be some sort of commotion behind her, but all curiosity had been drained out of her in the ordeal of the past days, and so she waited passively for it to cease.

"_Felicity_! FELICITY!"

Someone was shaking her shoulders, shouting into her ear. Felicity found to her panic that she couldn't move, couldn't stand or shift away. Her body was wrestled back and forth by invisible persons, and she could do naught but stare ahead, her muscles refusing to respond.

With a hard wrench, she was twisted around to face the door. Her vision flickered, and then cleared. A woman whom she had never seen before was peering at her in interest. Steel-haired and with a broad, red face, she looked as if she were examining a particularly unusual flower arrangement.

"So." The woman smiled. "You must be Felicity. I'm Mrs. Haffner."

And Felicity, for the first time in her life, fainted dead away.

* * *

The first thing she was conscious of was an encompassing sense of warmth and comfort. Felicity lay completely still, trying not to wake, but daylight wedged itself under her eyelids, and with a sigh she pushed herself upright and swung herself over the side of the bed.

The instant her feet hit the floor she remembered Ben. Moving so quickly she stubbed her toes, Felicity ran to the door and tried to open it. It was locked. She stared stupidly down at the handle, utterly bewildered, until it suddenly twitched and the door flew open. Felicity only just stepped back in time.

"I _thought_ you'd be waking up about now. You've certainly slept—and it's no wonder. Your mother tells me you hadn't rested for nearly five days!"

Mrs. Haffner (_that_ much was firm in Felicity's mind) bustled into the room, arms heaped with clothing. With a start, Felicity realized that she was clad only in her nightshift. She hadn't remembered that she'd never gotten dressed, simply dragged Mr. Nye after her into the night.

But there were more pressing concerns. "Where's Ben?"

"And a sorry sight you were, when I arrived. Child, you can only push yourself so far."

But Felicity would not be distracted. "Where's Ben?" she repeated, fighting fruitlessly against the petticoat Mrs. Haffner was forcing over her head. "What's happened to him? He's not—"

"No! No, child." The woman began lacing Felicity into her stays. "Benjamin is no worse than he was before you collapsed."

"He's not better?"

Mrs. Haffner paused. "It's early yet to expect an improvement, child. A body will heal itself in its own time."

Felicity's face lost what little color it had regained. "I have to go."

"Absolutely not." Mrs. Haffner marched Felicity back to her bed, still in her underwear, and stood towering over her. "You are to stay in this room and you are to _calm yourself. _Even if I hadn't heard what your mother's told me, it's plain as wine on a tablecloth that you've run yourself ragged."

Stubbornly, Felicity pushed Mrs. Haffner away and attempted to reach the door. With a strength her wrinkles belied, the woman lifted Felicity back onto her blanket and held her there. "What kind of care do you think you were giving him when you could scarce see a foot in front of you? An exhausted nurse does more damage to her patient than oft the sickness does itself."

Only the possibility of harming Ben could have brought Felicity back around again. "I haven't hurt him, have I?"

"No, praise God. And 'tis a miracle you haven't injured _yourself_, carrying on as you've been. Child, if you will not preserve your health for the sake of you or your family— both worthy causes, I might add— then do so for that boy."

That, of course, settled the matter. Felicity gave herself over completely to the dominion of the woman she had barely met, a meeker soul than any that had been a Merriman.

.

**The second thing we see Ben say to Felicity is "As you wish." Being an avid _Princess Bride _fan, I must say that that made very happy.**


	15. Breath and Lull

Breath and Lull

Felicity Merriman had had many tears.

As a babe, she'd cried when stomach was empty or her diaper was full. She'd cried when her teeth had come in, and when she'd scraped her knees, and when she'd overturned a basket of crockery onto her head. She'd cried for things less trivial: Penny and Elizabeth and Grandfather. And she had cried in the past month more times than she usually did in a year.

There were times she hated herself for it, and times she welcomed the relief it brought. Her mother, her father, her friends and even her teacher had all comforted her upon at least one occasion. And if they were not there, she either surrendered to the storm or bullied herself back into higher spirits. Of late she had been finding the latter interminably exhausting. Soon, she would need sort of release, despite the strict care she was now being given.

So it was when her mother pushed the door open, and she saw Ben— _sitting, waking, talking Ben— _deep in conversation with Mrs. Haffner; when she ran so fast her right shoe shot off her foot and into a table leg, and fell to her knees beside the bed; when he looked up with an expression that was surprise and joy and guilt and relief all mixed into one and when she reached out and pushed his still-too-warm hand so hard against her cheek that it later left an imprint; that was the moment she knew that the hot wetness flooding over her skin was the last tears that she would weep in a long, long time.

* * *

"They told me you didn't leave my side for a week."

Not entirely surprised, Felicity set down on her lap the newspaper she had been reading aloud. His tone was direct, and questioning for all he had phrased a statement. He wanted information._ I suppose I do owe it to him._

"You'll have to take their word for it. I . . . wasn't concentrating on keeping count."

"So it's true?" Two days after he'd opened his eyes, Ben was still unable to sit without the support of pillows, and his voice was alarmingly weak, no matter how much vigor he tried to force into it.

"I think they told me it was only five—"

"Why?" said Ben bluntly.

The fire cracked and popped behind her. Orange flickers deepened the shadows under Ben's eyes and blurred the edges of his face. He seemed incredibly vulnerable, half-sunken into his bedding, and Felicity wouldn't— _couldn't— _fight him now.

"Because you're Ben," she said. It fanned out behind her collarbone with the steady weight of truth. _Because you're Ben._

Ben smiled and relaxed back, letting his head droop. Felicity picked up the paper again, but had not gotten more than a few lines before Mrs. Haffner entered, pushing the half-opened door out of her way.

"Time for a change of nightshift. And a bath, I daresay, though that will have to wait until the tub is being used for something other than storing old apples. Miss Felicity?" Mrs. Haffner raised a brow, and Felicity, realizing what she was about to do, blushed and exited as swiftly as she could without being rude.

They were scrubbing out the inside of Mr. Nye's big wooden tub—which had not only been full of ancient, wrinkly apples but shriveled grapes, dusty plums, and a melon that Felicity was willing to bet hadn't seen daylight since before she was born— in the middle of the kitchen floor. Mrs. Merriman was taking a turn at watching over Ben.

Mrs. Haffner dunked the rag she held into a bucket of soapy water, managing (with a deftness Felicity envied) not to splash a single drop onto the front of her dress. She was speaking of something— the snow, a tree branch— and Felicity was feeling _alive _for the first time in weeks.

"—though of course this is nothing to what they get up around Philadelphia. No, child, you've got to put more muscle into it. Look. See, 'tis not so hard once you get a rhythm to it."

Felicity complied, though her back was beginning to ache. She wasn't quite quick enough, however, to escape Mrs. Haffner.

"Speak, child. You're not very good at being quiet."

"I just suppose . . . I'd never known there was a right and a wrong way to clean out a tub before."

"You have nine boys and a husband bathed in the same day, and you learn a thing or two about stubborn mud." With a sigh, Mrs. Haffner leaned back on her heels and shook her hands in front of her. "_What _that man has been doing all these years . . .!"

"My sister and I would clean for him sometimes," said Felicity, a bit hurt. "It looks fine to me."

"Well, of course it does, child, for a man living alone. Now that he's got two ladies" she gave Felicity a conspiratorial wink "living here, and a sick boy, though, he'll need to help neaten up. And," she added, catching again the tenor of Felicity's thoughts, "I expect to stay here until I'm no longer needed. And I'll want a clean house in that time."

"Good," said Felicity. "He'll need you."

Mrs. Haffner narrowed shrewd eyes. "Aye, and I daresay he's not the only one."

"I didn't mean Mr. Nye, I meant—"

"I know, child."

They worked in silence.

"Mrs. Haffner, why— I don't want to be rude—"

"I'll take no offense, child."

"Why, well, why would you matter?"

"Now that, child, I will not tell you. That's a piece of him."

"Oh."

"And, child?"

"Yes ma'am?"

The steady motion of Mrs. Haffner's rag stopped again as she stood to dump out the dirty wash water. "That doesn't mean he doesn't need _you_ any less."


	16. Christmas!

**Hello out there!**

**The next chapter requires beaucoup de research, so I'll have to get my lazy behind into line. But fear not you must, working on it I am!**

Christmas!

"Ben, don't—"

"I'm _going, _Felicity."

"But—"

"I'll be fine."

"If you'd just—"

"This is one you won't win, child." Mrs. Haffner's voice was tinged unmistakably with mirth.

Felicity huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "But he can't even _walk!_"

Shakily supported by Mr. Nye and Mrs. Merriman, Ben looked up at Felicity, and then around at them all. "I can move, can't I? Come. 'Tis Christmas."

Unable to formulate a counter-argument, Felicity pursed her lips disapprovingly and looked away. That didn't stop her, however, from _feeling _Ben's grin on the back of her neck. "Now you look like Nan."

"Who looks like Nan?" Picking fussily at her sleeve, Nan appeared in the doorway behind her mother. "'Tis certain we'll be late if we don't leave soon. _Please _hurry," Nan urged, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the front of her gown.

William's head popped into view. "Polly's found your salt cellar, sir," he told Mr. Nye. "She's poured it out and is drawing pictures in the salt. I can do that, Mother." Edging Nan out of the way, he squeezed into the room and under Ben's arm.

"That child!" Mrs. Merriman sighed and started down the hall. "She'll never be safe one minute alone, will she?"

"No," said William cheerfully. Nan _tsk!_-ed and began patting down his hair.

"Yer sister's right, ye know. At this rate, by the time we get there, the mass will be half finished." Unable to reach out while grasping Ben as he did, Mr. Nye tapped his foot on the floor. "Lass, 'tis sometimes a good thing to be stubborn, but it won't be helpin' ye here."

Swallowing a groan, Felicity turned back to look at Ben. He had been shaved, bathed, and dressed in his Sunday best, but he still looked..._awful, _Felicity thought, taking in the pallor of his skin, the circles under his eyes, and the way his legs trembled even with his weight braced by Will and Mr. Nye. And his eyelids were drooping, though he fought to keep them open.

"'Church will do him good," said Mrs. Haffner. Starched petticoats rustled she moved forward to place her hand on Felicity's shoulder.

"'Tis _Christmas,_" said Ben again, but Felicity already knew her resolve was weakening.

"'Tis not my place to forbid you," she replied after a pause. "But..."

"Thank you, Felicity." Ben smiled at her, and Felicity almost smiled back, but then his face went curiously blank and he looked back at Mr. Nye. "Are we to leave now, then?"

"Aye!" said Nan with relief. Polly sprung up, followed quickly by a somewhat salty Mrs. Merriman, and the group began to sort itself out for departure.

Felicity bit the inside of her cheek and told herself to stop fretting. Ben must be better than he looked; this whole business was surely proof of that. He would be fine. And he wasn't angry at her anymore, which was nice, though she suspected that was temporary. And he was right; it was Christmas.

So why couldn't she be happy?

* * *

The screaming started at midnight.

Felicity stumbled to his room in a panic, barking her shin on the side of the dresser. When she reached his door she saw Mrs. Haffner already there, leaning over Ben's prone form with a glass of water; she flung it into his face and he woke, gasping, and grabbed her hand. She patted his head and said something in an undertone.

Before they could see her, Felicity leapt back and pressed herself to the wall. She could hear them speaking in murmurs behind her. A sick, squelching feeling contracted in her stomach, chilling her, making her aware of the sharp wind that whistled thinly around her ankles. She stood there for a moment more, small and alone, and then stole silently away.

* * *

The next day Mrs. Haffner would not leave her alone. She lurked at every doorway, blocked every turn; Felicity had to change direction so many times that her head began to pound.

"Remember what I said, child," Mrs. Haffner would say, tugging at Felicity's sleeve; she yanked free and hastened away, only to find the woman in front of her again.

"He needs you." With her hands on her hips, she barred Felicity's path. Felicity spun about and grabbed a pile of carrots, banging through Mr. Nye's kitchen for a knife to cut them with.

"Remember," Mrs. Haffner repeated, but Felicity refused to hear.

* * *

He screamed the next night, too, and the next. On the twenty-eighth of December Ben refused all his meals and wouldn't let Felicity into his room. Mrs. Haffner came and went freely, bringing water, stepping softly.

She lay in her bed in the darkness, listening to the cries and clicking her nails together with ever-increasing speed. She had just decided not to go to him- he had a proper nurse now, after all- when Mrs. Haffner appeared with a candle in her doorway.

"Come along, child," she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Leading the way to Ben's room, she threw the door open and clapped Ben hard on the shoulder.

"Ah!"

He jolted upright, one arm flung across his face. Motioning to Felicity- who had been hovering in the doorway, about to leave- Mrs. Haffner pulled his elbow down gently and looked into his eyes. "You are in Williamsburg. You are safe. And you have someone to see you."

Felicity stepped around the bed so that his searching gaze could fall on her. Ben stared at her for a moment, unreadable, and then shook his head. "No. I told you! I don't want her here!"

Cold fingers tightened in Felicity's throat. She made to leave, but Mrs. Haffner stayed her with an upraised palm. "She's here to hear you talk, child."

Ben shook his head again, his mouth set in a mulish line.

"Benjamin Davidson. The girl has nursed you 'till she was near dead herself, and now she sees you turn from her. She thinks this is the same ailment. You should have explained your situation when first you came here."

He muttered something. Mrs. Haffner prodded the inside of his wrist. "She cannot help you if she doesn't know what's wrong."

"I don't want her help!"

"That is a lie. But even were it not, you would still have to do this. For yourself. For her. For fairness, at the very least."

A look of pain flashed over Ben's sweaty features. The impulse to comfort him, to tell him he need not do this, welled up inside Felicity, and she almost gave in; at the very last moment, she closed her teeth around the words. 'Twas horrid, and careless, and _mean, _but she wanted to hear what he had to say.

She had never been so disgusted with herself.

"Ben," she said. "_Please_."

And she saw the man before her, the man cared so much about it scared her (for she could admit that now, in the shadows, in the bare whispers of candlelight that hid her from herself and from the world) take in his hand what he had kept so close and so long and cast it away. His slyest shields and his strongest safeguards, crumbling and tumbling one after the other in a rush of might and fury until he was left with naught but the truth.

He looked up. His fists clenched once upon the bed sheets and relaxed.

"Alright."

.

**'Bout time, Bensie boy.**

***smiles***


	17. Ben's Tale

**Hello, again. Yes, it's me. Yes, I am still alive. Yes, you finally (finally!) get to hear _this._**

Ben's Tale

"Sit. Please," he added, but it was not really a question. Felicity dragged her chair from its resting place against the wall and lowered herself into it, folding her hands in her lap. A sick giddiness nudged the insides of her skull, as if in warning; she forced herself steady by pushing her heels into the floor, hard. Mrs. Haffner gave her a nod (was it approval?) and took a seat on Ben's left.

"I do not want to say this again," he said, his gaze not once wavering from Felicity's. "Grant me this."

All the moisture in her mouth seemed to have evaporated. "Aye."

Only now did Ben look away, turning his eyes straight ahead to a vision neither Felicity nor the woman across from her could see. He was mute for so long Felicity feared he was rethinking himself, and she was about to say as much when he began to speak, his tone low and passionless.

"It's an intoxicating thing, Felicity, to hold in your hands a man's life. To see his desperation and smell his fear, and know that in a twitch of your finger he can be dead . . . to do that again and again, and not trying to keep from hurting them but hoping you will, counting your victories on the corpses around you.

"I was very young when your father let me join. I did not think so, but I was, and your father knew it. He at least did not do me the discourtesy of telling me so, though he came often close.

"It was harder than I expected. I knew how to fire a gun, but precious little else. I had not thought to consider the time between leaving Williamsburg and being a hero for my country. Still, I was good at it." It was a statement of fact, not arrogance. "I thought I was ready. We all did. I remember being so excited, so impatient, like a child waiting for a grandfather's present.

"The first battle was very strange. I'd been sent up to join the fight for Philadelphia, as I told you in my letters. Your father had connections with a man in the 9th and he asked after that assignment for me. I think he'd forged some sort of protection agreement. As if there were such a thing as safety in the midst of a war.

"Do you remember, when I first came back and I told you I'd met General Greene at Valley Forge? Well aye, that was technically true, but 'twas not the first time I'd _seen_ him. 'Twas he who commanded the Virginia regiments up there, Felicity, and I'd never imagined such a man. When he swept down the line he had such a _presence_ about him. We lost Philadelphia that day, but saved General Washington. I could've taken on the might of the British Empire myself that night, or so I felt.

"But then . . ."

"October fourth. 1777. The plan was simple. We were to creep up on the regulars—on Germantown—in the black of the night. Four columns, from four directions, all at once, to surprise them—a large-scale recreation, of sorts, of Trenton.

"But the dark is heavy in land you don't know, and we moved slowly. 'Twas dawn when we finally arrived, to find that they'd seen us coming. There was fog; there was smoke; the enemy was everywhere and I couldn't find him.

"I was terrified. I couldn't seem to find the muzzle of my gun, my hands were shaking so badly. Useless. I wasted three caps worth of good powder that day.

"There was somebody hitting me, pulling me. Tobias Crouse, I found out later. I almost shot him—I would have if I'd been loaded—the paper had come out of his hat, you see. We were all supposed to wear white papers, to identify friend from foe.

"By then, I couldn't tell my feet from the ground. He dragged me out, up into a copse of trees and we watched from up there. Or tried to. 'Twas about that time that I noticed the stains on the side of my shirt and my coat, and became rather preoccupied.

In a motion smooth enough to be involuntary, Ben touched the side of his ribcage.

"When I came to it was over. I was lying in a tent, with a bandage and a pain so great I could hardly draw breath. They told me which regiment, which division I was in, but I forgot it immediately. They told me the bayonet had missed by inches my stomach and other things...vital. They told me the rest of the 9th Virginia had been captured. They told me I was lucky to be alive.

Felicity reached to take his hand, but Mrs. Haffner leaned across the bed and caught her by the wrist. "Not now, child," she said quietly. Felicity nodded and returned her own hand to her lap, but the movement had alerted Ben; he frowned and blinked, as if coming out of a stupor. "Where am I?"

"You're just about at Valley Forge," Mrs. Haffner told him. Ben shifted to sit straighter, making two indents in the mattress where he pushed himself up, and resumed his stare into nothingness.

"Do you think you know cold, Felicity? There has never been a cold so fierce as the one that winter. And I was one of the lucky ones, for I had kept my boots. Some had no more than ragged strips of cloth to wrap their feet in, and you could see the trail of blood that followed them wherever they went.

"I couldn't do _anything, _Felicity. I couldn't sit without crying, much less feed myself or try to walk. Tobe kept me alive—I don't know why. I was a sullen, ungrateful lot.

"And I was surrounded by veterans, some of one battle, but mostly of many, and sometimes the war before this one, besides." His voice turned bitter. "And I a boy of barely nineteen, who had run away from a fight.

"'Twas Tobe's dancing that caught the attention of General Greene. That cursed dancing! I couldn't get the man to leave me alone, once I'd healed enough to stand. And the worst of it was that the others joined in too, and I knew they were laughing at me. But one day I saw him watching, curious-like, and the next he came over to talk to me.

"Talk to me! He was a lord among those who had rid themselves of noblemen, as Washington was a king over the kingless. He inquired after my health and my family. He asked what we were doing, and Tobe told him; he left with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"But he had talked to me! That spark of fierceness I'd cherished here, at home, rekindled. From that moment on I was sworn more closely to the cause than I'd thought it possible for a man to be. Everything else we did that winter I worked with such a single-minded intensity that it's a wonder I didn't frighten off the friends I'd managed to make as Tobe forced me through his half-remembered poses.

"So 'twasn't long after we left that I began to move up. From private to ensign to lieutenant . . . 'twasn't difficult. What true officers we had were few, for all they were renowned.

"What we _did _havewere shopkeepers and farmers, hastily trained and more foolish than anyone has a right to be. I looked at the men around me, they who had so quickly made killing a sport, a habit even. At first I was disgusted by them. But soon I found myself supping at their fires, sharing in their jests. Adding ones of my own. I was proud, sometimes, of the way I'd cast off my pity. I called it "strength." Of course, most of the time, we were freezing or sweating and hungry and so tired we'd near forgotten how to sleep, and I hated everything and everyone.

"But I had the friends I'd gained. Eli and Asa and Siah— the four of us were inseparable. Naturally, we weren't promoted at the same rate—but that never got between us. Asa became a captain before any of us, and we teased him mercilessly, but it was all wonderful fun.

"I thought I was fine. I was happy, in a perverse, misshapen way. And then . . . and then . . .

"We were back in the South—you remember, I told you?—we wanted to wear them out, fight a little here and a little there until all their support had been whittled away.

"We'd been chasing them and being chased, around the top of the Carolinas. When the order came, it was not unusual; Cornwallis had been spotted heading for the Catawba, and we were to stop him there.

"Felicity, _he drove right through the middle of the river—_over the heads of their horses, churning up the current 'til it boiled. But we had to stop them, so into the water it was.

"Asa had always been terrified of drowning—it was the one thing, he said, that kept him awake at night. And here he had to lead us straight into the maw of a flood twice as angry as Hades and full of panic and guns and redcoats, besides. We were all watching him, knowing we had to move, waiting for his order, but he stood there transfixed by the water, still enough to be made of wood.

"I had to do it, Felicity. _We had to stop them. _So I shouted for the rest of them to charge—made enough of a racket that they'd listen—and went to wake As, because he wasn't like to do it on his own.

"I couldn't get him to move. I yanked and pushed and pleaded, but he wouldn't budge, and there wasn't any time—I screamed at him—I lied— that I saw a redcoat aiming at him and that he had to _get in now_—I pulled him after me into the river and right . . . into the path . . . of a musket . . .

With trembling fingers, Felicity covered her mouth, horror congealing on her tongue.

". . . and they shot him. Right in front of me. There was red all over my face and my hands, and the words still on my lips that I'd been about to reassure him with. General Davidson (funny, isn't it? We used to make this joke . . .) turned to me, the river pouring into my boots and over the flanks of his horse, and he told me that I was promoted. For _knowing what had to be done_." The words could have blistered steel. "He meant getting the others in the water, of course but I'm sure he saw what . . . what . . . and I had to untangle myself from his body and find his cap, and take the yellow Captain's cloth wet with his blood and the Catawba, and tuck it in my own, so that my men would know me. We couldn't waste time in the middle of a battle to cut a new one, you see.

The tendons in his forearm began to shake, so tightly was he clutching the top of his knee. It looked painful. Ben didn't appear to notice.

"And the cruel thing was that he'd been about to go home. His mother lived in the county and after this battle he'd planned to ask for a day to go see her. So naturally, when it was over and they'd slain Davidson and crossed the river and driven us off, it was only fitting to pay her a personal visit for the news.

"Do you know what it is to look into the eyes of the mother of the man you got killed and tell her how he died, all the while carrying his rank-marker on your head?" Ben laughed, and it was a dreadful hollow sound. "But I did it. And I thought I'd be left to my grief. But then the nightmares came."

"After a couple weeks of waking every night to my howling, the new General came to me and told me I was "discharged for medical causes." They dropped me at the next hospital they found—and I do not blame them, for an army wants enough of sleep and secrecy.

"I can't remember what they did to me in there. I only know that I was in a very dark place for a very long time."

"They chained him," said Mrs. Haffner, making Felicity jump and close her mouth; she'd been leaning forward, holding her breath, and had forgotten the woman was there. "They locked him in a cupboard and beat him when he started to yell. This was not the necessary restraint that you and your mother tied him with, child. This was their way of dealing with a madman."

Ben continued, as if there had been no interruption. "The next clear memory I have is of a quiet bed, softer than anything else in the world, and Mrs. Haffner leaning over me. She told me she'd smuggled me out of the hospital by pretending to be my aunt, and that she was going to help me get better."

"'Twas March," Mrs. Haffner added. "He'd been there only half a month, all thanks to God."

Felicity touched the back of his hand lightly. This time, Mrs. Haffner did not stop her. "And . . .?"

"And it worked. She'd had family previously afflicted, and knew what to do. I did not make it easy for her," said Ben, a smile hovering, for the first time that night, around the corners of his mouth. "But she continued. And so I was able to come back to you."

"To me?"

Ben looked down at their fingers, which had somehow become entwined, and then back up at Felicity. "To all of you."

"But your mother," said Felicity, carefully avoiding Mrs. Haffner's eye, "why would she let you go? You said—"

"He did visit them ere he came here, but Cornwallis was close to Yorktown then," said Mrs. Haffner. "Benjamin was not yet ready to rejoin the fight, if indeed he ever will be. Most likely such a thing would only make worse his symptoms. 'Tis not a mark of weakness." From Ben's expression, Felicity could see that he did not entirely agree, but he held his peace.

"And what are these symptoms?" They had returned back to the beginning, and Felicity found herself strangely fearful. Ben glanced at their hands again out the corner of his eye, but said nothing.

Dry wood creaked as Mrs. Haffner settled herself more comfortably into her chair. "What Benjamin suffers from is a condition resulting from his experiences. That not everyone who has seen a battlefield does not share his symptoms is through no fault or frailty of his, but a consequence of especial trauma, and sometimes certain prevalences within families—much as you share your mother's red hair, child, so his mother or father might have passed this on to him."

Though her words were as those of a teacher, Mrs. Haffner's manner remained soothing and kind. She paused often, as if to ascertain that Felicity had understood.

"The outward aspects you have seen yourself, notably most recently but likely at one point or another in the past, though you would not have known what they were. An increase in anger, anxiety, and irritability; impulsiveness; palpitations and distressing nightmares.

"It is not something well-known, at least not for what it is. That is why your Mr. Galt was unable to treat Benjamin properly. The quinine, for example; while it does reduce fever, it also increases the heartbeat, which served only to pull Ben back under the tide."

About to shift closer to the bed, Felicity stopped and fell back into her seat. A deep sense of dread began growing in her belly.

"There are other triggers: sadness, frustration, pain, or loneliness. A sudden loss, failure, or ending. It is my belief that a combination of the sickness that gave him the fever and one or more of these personal struggles caused the sudden violent reoccurrence of Benjamin's symptoms."

Felicity flinched. The air seemed curiously to be full of the smell of hay.

Mrs. Haffner seemed about to say something more, but she peered intently at the two of them and stood. "I had thought to begin teaching you a few of the ways to help him deal with this, child, but it is late and you have much to digest. We shall resume on the morrow—pray do not stay up much longer." Patting Ben comfortingly on the back and murmuring a "good night" to Felicity, the woman stepped quietly from the room.

"I'm sorry," Felicity whispered once they were alone. "I didn't mean to, to bring this all down on you."

"'Tis not a thing I would have had you know," replied Ben. With his left thumb and forefinger, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I had thought I had left this all behind."

"I'm sorry," repeated Felicity, but Ben shook his head. "That was for me, not you."

He did not seem inclined to say anything else. Uncomfortable, Felicity let her eyes wander over to the dying embers in the fireplace. They glowed and flickered in the shallow drafts that crept over the floorboards, now and then giving a sharp _pop! _as some lingering pocket of water burned away.

She turned to Ben. He was staring at her, twisting his shirt with a tortured look on his face. She turned back to the embers.

He continued to regard her for a while more. Then he stirred, punched his pillow—the bed creaked—and drew the covers up over his head. When she was certain he was asleep, Felicity inched up until her knees touched the side of the mattress and rested her arm lightly on Ben's waist.

His eyelids flew open. They stayed, frozen, watching each other for a handful of seconds; then Ben slowly began lifting himself up on his elbows until he lay propped up at an angle above the mattress, still _looking_ at Felicity. She wrapped her arm more firmly around his middle and _looked _back.

"I don't want you to start screaming again," said Felicity. Something at the back of her mind started flapping in warning. She pushed it away.

"I won't," Ben said. "I only scream once. No dreams after that."

"Oh." Another draft, the strongest yet, flattened Felicity's shift against her legs. She shivered.

"Of course, there's always a first time." Ben's voice seemed to get deeper with every word he spoke.

"Maybe I should rub your shoulders. That's what helps me," said Felicity. Ben pushed himself the rest of the way into a sitting position and turned so that he was facing away from Felicity. Felicity put her hands on either side of his neck and began kneading this skin there.

He sighed; relaxed; and then with no idea how, Felicity found herself with her arms wrapped around him, his head resting on her chest. It was quite comfortable. Ben was very warm against the chill of the air, and he fit perfectly in the space under her chin. Yes, _quite _comfortable. Felicity yawned.

Mrs. Haffner found them the next morning, curled around each other, Felicity's hand cupping Ben's ear protectively. She smiled, brushed a speck of dust from her sleeve, and closed the door noiselessly on her way out.

_Note: "blister steel" is an actual type of steel that has been around for centuries. It is created by packing wrought-iron bars in charcoal, sealing this in iron boxes and fire clay, and placing the whole thing into a furnace where it is kept at a heat near the melting point for several days. This would produce steel that contained small blisters._

_Nowadays (and, actually, starting in England in 1740), the blister steel then melted in crucibles (earthen pots) and poured into ingot-molds, which are afterwards heated yet again and made into bars._

**Whew! That was one **_**heck **_**of a chapter to write.** **Next chapter: Mrs. Haffner teaches Lissie how to help Ben with his PTSD, and you all get to see a part that has remained basically unchanged since very early on.**

**So? What'd you think?**


	18. Knowing

Knowing

Mrs. Haffner woke them some hours after dawn, throwing open the curtains to flood the room with cold winter light. Felicity was embarrassed to find herself half-lying on top of a softly snoring Ben, but Mrs. Haffner's apparent unconcern soon put her at ease, and after a hasty stretch—her muscles were stiff and cramped—she aided the other woman in tying back the drapes and rolling up the carpet because, as Mrs. Haffner said, it was high time somebody took it outside to be beaten.

Through all this Ben had lain with his eyes closed; now he opened them and rolled over onto his back, wincing as if he too felt sore. "I wish I could get up," he said fervently.

Felicity looked at him in surprise. She had expected him to be shaken from his telling the night before, but if he was he did not show it. She herself was still disquieted and awkwardly unsure of how to act around her friend, but Ben seemed to have forgotten everything.

Perhaps Mrs. Haffner intercepted the tenor of her thoughts, for she smiled at Felicity as she walked past. "You know you can't, not yet," she said, businesslike. "You've been sorely taxed, and you need to rest."

At this, a shadow passed over Ben's face, as if he did indeed remember what had transpired. It lasted only an instant, but it was enough for Felicity to be reassured; his nonchalance had been disturbing her.

"We'll breakfast here," said Mrs. Haffner, "to keep you company. But afterword, I fear I must take Felicity away for a few hours. There are things we need to discuss."

"There are?" said Felicity, momentarily forgetting that Mrs. Haffner had promised to teach her how to help Ben; Mrs. Haffner's reply was interrupted by a sharp rap upon the door and Felicity opened it to see Mr. Nye, dressed for traveling in a long cloak and warm cap.

"Begging your pardon," he said, "but I've . . . I've become used to people in my house these past days, and I was wondering if . . . I've some business out of town the next few days, and I know I haven't been much around ye, and 'twould be nice to have someone look after the house. 'Twould make a change coming back. Or after that." He cleared his throat.

"Oh Mr. Nye!" cried Felicity, throwing her arms around the old man. She'd been troubled, after Ben had begun to recover, that they were starting to overstay their welcome; surely Mr. Nye had not anticipated such a to-do, and especially not such a lengthy one, when he had offered Ben a place to rest his head.

"You're a good man, sir," said Mrs. Haffner, inclining her head. Mr. Nye looked uncomfortable but pleased and, after Felicity had released him, graced Mrs. Haffner with what might have been an attempt at a bow before withdrawing into the hallway.

"That relieves me of a great worry," Mrs. Haffner said once he had gone. "Though I don't doubt your mother is anxious to have you home, Felicity, 'tis better for the present that we all remain together. Things will be far easier that way."

* * *

"The most important thing you must learn," Mrs. Haffner told Felicity, "is that you cannot ever fully understand him, unless you were to go though the same events yourself. And even then, everyone is different."

They were seated in the parlor, cups of berry-mixed water cooling on the low table before them. For once, Mrs. Haffner had broken her rule about letting somebody dine alone ("Meals," she was fond of saying, "are for talk and togetherness, not lonely chewing) and had carried Ben his cup separately, setting it down on a cunning little tray that unfolded to form a bridge over Ben's knees, so that he could eat in bed without spilling on himself.

Felicity nodded. She had already known this, or suspected it, but that did not stop her from wishing it weren't so; she knew from experience that empathy was a much greater comfort than sympathy could ever hope to be.

"That should not, however, keep you from trying to help _him_ understand. Now, probably he will want to avoid the subject of his distress until a few days have passed, and after this afternoon you should let him. He is not in as poor a condition as he might have seemed to you last night. The fact that he was able to tell his story so clearly and completely is testament to that. The biggest hurdle, I believe, has already been passed; he will know better than you what he is supposed to do now, though it will not be particularly easy for him."

"But what _am _I to do?" asked Felicity, feeling, despite Mrs. Haffner's words, as if she were about to be swept over a waterfall. If she were to cause Ben to fall under now, again . . .

"It is very simple—or, at least, it is in the telling. You are to be there for him. If he wants to speak, you are to listen; if he wants to be silent, you are not to force him, though you may try gently to draw him out of himself. You are to soothe him after his nightmares and any other moments of crisis. But," and she leaned forward, holding up her forefinger between them, "you must be careful not to lose yourself. This is the second most important thing, and the one that I think you will have the most trouble with. You must not become so sacrificing that you fail to meet your own needs or desires. You are a person too, and you deserve a life of your own."

The seriousness of Mrs. Haffner's words made Felicity look away. She had, in her three days of jealousy, thought longingly of the existence she was missing at home, of her family and friends, and been plagued by guilt ever since. And she knew also that Mrs. Haffner was referring to the blatant disregard for her own health that had so upset her mother.

Seeming satisfied that she had gotten across her point, Mrs. Haffner sat back into her cushions and took a small sip from her cup. "Henceforth I shall remove myself to the background as much as possible, guiding you while you perform what tasks are necessary for Benjamin. We must create an utter trust between the two of you, one that either of you may fall back on with complete confidence. I know that you have had your troubles in the past—do not look so stricken, child! I said that I knew _of _them, not that I knew what they were, though I can guess—and I do not say that you will never have any troubles again, but the bond between you must be strong enough to weather such trials. It is the only way that you will be able to successfully help him."

"How am I to begin?" asked Felicity. She still felt a bit overwhelmed, but in her core she was composed. What Mrs. Haffner was saying struck true against some inner strength. Felicity took a deep breath. She was not sure how long such a feat would take, but she knew in her heart that she would to whatever it took to make it so.

Mrs. Haffner cast an approving glance at the girl in front of her. "We will go up to Benjamin and you will speak to him, and try to get him to speak to you of last night. You must be calm, and never let him feel that you are attacking him, but he needs to say at least a few words of acknowledgement."

"Let us go, then." Felicity stood and began clearing the table, anxious to get started.

* * *

Such began the strangest whirlwind of activity Felicity had ever experienced, because a large part of it involved sitting down with Ben and talking about nothing at all. "Get him speaking," Mrs. Haffner said, "that's the best and fastest way. Talk about the subjects you have before, or new subjects altogether. If the occasion presents itself, talk about what he's gone through—but the main thing is to get him comfortable _talking_ to you."

There were also moments of intense activity, of running to Ben with hastily lit candles, rubbing his hands when they clenched and would not let go, trying to get him to eat when he became sullen and refused food. And cleaning, forever cleaning, because Mrs. Haffner had taken Mr. Nye's request to look after the house as an excuse to scrub it from cellar to rafters.

Once, Felicity opened the door to find Ben crumpled in a heap on the floor, looking as if all the blood had drained out of him; he had tried to get out of bed and collapsed, and his shame and frustration made him shout at her when she tried to lift him up. She retreated, careful to keep her expression impassive though hurt flared hotly in her breast, and after several fruitless attempts to stand Ben let her help him back to his mattress.

He turned his head aside, refusing to look at her. Felicity saw him swallow, and thought he was about to say something, but he did not. It was not until Felicity had returned to the kitchen that she realized Mrs. Haffner had not moved from the soup she was stirring over the fire.

* * *

"Child, you've barely set foot outside this house for weeks. Remember what I said about not losing yourself! Benjamin will be fine, we won't be gone long. And 'tis about time he began to have stretches by himself again."

Felicity hovered on the doorstep with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. She was looking forward to walking through Williamsburg again, seeing the shops and faces she had quarantined herself from. Yet she was loath to leave her charge—and, she admitted to herself, to meet the inquiring gazes of half the city.

At last, Mrs. Haffner had to bodily force Felicity onto the street, basket and all. The trip, to Felicity's relief, was not so bad as she had feared and brought with it an unexpected and wonderful surprise: Elizabeth had returned, full of Christmastide stories and curiosity about her friend. It seemed, Elizabeth told them, that Felicity had saved Ben from the curse of a terrible witch and was now keeping him alive with sugared beer and whole, raw turnips. Mrs. Haffner was a bit of the puzzle, but it had eventually been decided that she was some relation of Ben's—an aunt, perhaps—there in place of his mother, who was herself sick in bed with an evil cough.

Felicity had forgotten how good it felt to laugh, to talk with a friend who required nothing of her but her arm and her opinion on hat designs. After the isolation of Mr. Nye's house, bustling Williamsburg hit Felicity as an explosion of light and sound; the smells seemed sharper than she remembered them, the clamor of horse, cart, and human voice louder.

Without realizing it, Felicity stood up straighter, her cheeks regaining a good deal of the color they had lost at Mr. Nye's house. By the end of the outing Felicity was flushed and beaming, her basket full and a sprig of winter greenery stuck jauntily behind her ear.

"I'm glad you made me do that," she told Mrs. Haffner as they unloaded their purchases. "I hadn't realized how much I had locked myself away."

"I could see that," replied Mrs. Haffner, opening the cupboard and hoisting a bag of flour into it. "The stew should be ready soon; you can go tell Benjamin that it won't be long. I've no doubt he's hungry."

Felicity was halfway up the stairs before the other woman had finished speaking, her exuberance sending her dashing—were she still a child, her mother might have termed it "galloping—" down the hall to Ben's room. "Ben!" she cried "Elizabeth's back! And dinner's going to be ready in a few minutes, Mrs. Haff . . ." her voice trailed off. He was standing, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the snow falling softly outside the window. Strong. Tall. _Ben._

With a shout Felicity flung herself across the room towards him, a half-formulated notion of a rejoicing hug rising in her mind. Just before she reached him, he whirled around to face her.

Her momentum carried her forward one more faltering step and then she stopped, her enthusiasm quelled by the look he gave her. He seemed bigger than she remembered him, his chest broader and his eyes darker. She tried to make a sound, to lift her arms, and found she couldn't; his gaze pinned her to the floor.

Then something in him dimmed, and she was able to move. Ben shifted on his feet as if to turn back to the window. Impulsively, Felicity caught his face in her hands, forcing him to stay.

"How?" she asked softly.

"Mrs. Haffner. We would work on standing . . . on walking . . . when you were doing something else." The answer came readily enough, but Felicity sensed that he spoke without thinking. His mind was someplace else.

"I'm so glad," replied Felicity, just as absentminded. She was watching the strange flashes of emotion that raced across his eyes, so quickly they were indecipherable. In a movement more thought than action, she brushed her thumbs along his cheekbones.

Instantly the flickering emotions blazed, solidified; she could make them out. Here was happiness, triumph, admiration, and things deeper . . . a strange possessiveness, something she could not identify . . . and again that flash of desire.

Felicity gasped and almost released him. His eyes were boring into hers, but this time instead of small she felt powerful. He was not the same man that had embraced her in the stable. Nor was she the same woman who had slapped him away He was not hiding from her, and there was . . . a question . . .

Very slowly, very deliberately, she rose up and pressed her mouth to his.

Ben responded with such alacrity that she almost fell, balanced as she was on the tips of her toes. His arms went around her, pulling her closer, one hand reaching up to cup the back of her neck; Felicity's hands slid over Ben's shoulders and tangled themselves in his hair and he was kissing her and she was kissing him and she _did _want him, oh, she wanted him.

When they broke apart, Felicity was panting; she laid her cheek on Ben's chest, head spinning too much to do anything else. His heartbeat was racing as quickly as her own. They stayed there, propped against each other, for a few moments; then Ben drew back enough to look down into her face.

"Felicity," he said, his voice rough with wonder and joy, and stopped; he too was breathing heavily. Felicity said nothing, but smiled and brushed the back of her hand across his jaw. Ben pulled her back to him and hugged her, hard and for a long time.

Felicity's mind hummed with happiness. A delicious sense of _rightness _was spreading over the world, a luster that, up until then, had been missing.

"Why?" murmured Ben, and Felicity lifted her head to look at him.

"I don't know," she said. "I think . . . for a long time . . . I've been incredibly unfair to you, and to myself. I think I've loved you from the moment I recognized it was you at the gate, and ruined your coat with flour. I just didn't know it yet."

"Felicity Merriman," said Ben, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone, "if you had kissed me then, many things would have been a great deal simpler these past two years."

At this, Felicity laughed, and kissed him again to make up for it. Mrs. Haffner's voice called them to eat, and so Ben took Felicity's hand and together they walked down to dinner.

.


	19. Homecoming

Homecoming

"Good day Miss Merriman, Mr. Davidson!" Mrs. Aigler smirked knowingly at the two of them as they passed by, huddled together against the wintry gusts. Felicity gave her a cheery wave and put an arm around Ben's waist. She could hardly begrudge the woman a few rumors.

They were right, after all.

Nor could she keep from responding in kind when Ben rolled his eyes at her. He had been wrapped in so many layers that he looked like a walking dumpling, with his calves and feet sticking out below. "I can't _move,_"he complained, not for the first time, but he wasn't fooling Felicity. She saw the springing of his feet against the ground and the way he tipped his head back to catch the pale rays of sunlight.

"You're ready," Mrs. Haffner had told them, climbing into the carriage that morning. "Or at least, as ready as I can make you. Come, child, don't look so grim. If you'd let yourself, you'd realize I'd only be hindering you by staying longer. And I've a hankering for the view outside my own windows, and the warmth from my own fireplace." She thanked Mr. Nye for his hospitality and clattered away down the road, the jaunty set of the coachman's hat soon swallowed up in the rush of traffic.

"What are you going to do first?" Felicity asked Ben.

"Hmm?"

She repeated the question.

"Eat!" Ben replied. "Mrs. Haffner's food is well enough, but your mother's is fare fit for the heavens. And then I'll sit in front of the fire and listen to everybody. Maybe I'll play chess with Will."

"And where will I be during all this?"

"You," said Ben, "will be gazing adoringly into my face."

Felicity _ha!_-ed and bumped him with her shoulder. "And if I do not?"

"Then I'll send out Nan to drag you away from the stable."

"You should so wish!" When _she _got home, Felicity planned to spend a good amount of time convincing Blossom and Patriot that she still cared for them.

They stepped out across the street, careful to avoid the patches of ice that glittered treacherously in the sunlight. Here and there, Felicity saw cobblestones missing, fences torn or pulled entirely out of the ground; but for the most part, Williamsburg was back to her loud and turbulent self.

When they reached Felicity's door, Ben stopped, the smile dropping from his face. Felicity waited patiently, trying not to let her worry show; if he needed to explain, he would.

"Do you want to go back?" asked Felicity at length, laying her left hand on his shoulder. Ben's eyebrows met in a scowl. He swore under his breath, once, and then relaxed. "No," he said. He touched his fingers to the back of Felicity's wrist and then withdrew so that she could reach for the knob.

"Mother?" Felicity called as they stepped inside. Her gaze fell on the dusty cloak hanging from the hatstand, the scuffed leather bags leaning against the wall . . . and she was off and running, Ben following close behind her.

"Father!" cried Felicity, bursting into the parlor. The man sitting by the fire paused in his conversation, looked up, and quickly put down Polly so that Felicity could fling her arms around his neck. She held him so tightly she knew it must be hurting him, but she couldn't force herself to let go.

"My pretty Lissie," her father murmured into her ear. "Shhh. 'Tis all right now, 'tis all right." He rocked her back and forth, as he had when she was a babe, and eventually Felicity was able to step back with a trembling smile. She was shocked to see how different her father looked: there were new lines about his mouth and eyes, and the rough beard that he had grown was streaked with grey.

Her father kissed her upon the brow and sat back down, setting Polly back on his knee while Felicity cast around for a pair of unoccupied chairs.

Ben was standing in the doorway, hovering back and forth as if he did not know quite what to do with himself. Indicating the two chairs Felicity had succeeded in finding, Mr. Merriman said "Come, sit with us, Ben. I have done a poor job indeed if you feel you are not welcome among my family."

"Aye, sir," said Ben with a grin. He sat and reached automatically for Felicity, halting when he realized Mr. Merriman was watching him; he tried to disguise the motion by coughing, but Felicity's father was watching him shrewdly.

"Now we're all home!" crowed Polly, innocent to the chill that had fallen between the two men. Mr. Merriman bounced her up and down, sending her into a fit of giggles. The conversation resumed; Nan and William were taking it in turns to tell their father all that had happened since he had left, with an occasional word from their mother. Mrs. Merriman sat in an armchair across from her husband, busy at her needlework; but she often looked over the top of her hoop and, in her worn-out work dress, she seemed to glow with the radiance of summer.

"Why did it take you so long to come back, Father?" asked Nan, leaning over his armrest to snuggle into him. Mr. Merriman winked at her and began stroking her hair. "Because I was captured," he said. Holding up a hand to quiet his wife and daughters' exclamations, he explained: "I came across a couple of redcoats on my way back. I tried to convince them that I was on their side, but they saw through the lie—I admit it wasn't a very good one, I was tired—and they were spoiling for a fight anyway, so they brought me back to their commander, who took one look at me and had me shoved in with the other prisoners they'd collected.

"I can't say I had an easy time of it," and here his voice became forcefully cheerful, over the squeak of Nan's chair as she gripped the sides, "but when the word came in that we'd won, they had the grace to let us go with our belongings. I even managed to bring Penny back, Lissie: she was too good an animal for them to waste."

Felicity cried out again and began to stand, hesitated, and set herself back down. Her toes curled inside of her shoes. She felt like leaping and shouting and doing a hundred other things, all at the top of her lungs. Ben glanced at her from the corner of his eye, sharing in her happiness, but made no other motion towards her. Mr. Merriman was speaking again.

"I rode back here as fast as I dared, considering the state of the roads. I was somewhat delayed by a couple of storms, but as you can see I came through well enough. That's all for my tale; it's not half so exciting as what's been happening around here, or so I've been hearing."

"No—" Nan began, and was interrupted by the growling of William's stomach.

"Heavens!" Mrs. Merriman exclaimed, looking at the clock. "We should have had dinner two hours ago!" Setting her sewing down in her basket, she hurried towards the kitchen, pausing to touch the side of her husband's face. "I'm glad you're back," she murmured. Mr. Merriman lifted a finger and trailed it gently down her cheek.

Then Polly fidgeted, bringing their attention once more to the present, and Mrs. Merriman departed. Nan got up to follow her, and then Felicity, reluctantly, to follow Nan.

Over her shoulder, Felicity saw Ben lean forward to ask her father (Father!) a question, to which the reply was a chuckle; then she turned the corner and was dragged by Nan into the kitchen to _do _something about the vegetables in the soup and don't add any salt because mother did that already and where was the ginger because it wasn't on the shelf?

* * *

And as for Penny . . . _well. _They all trooped out to meet her, every one, even Polly who could scarce remember her, so little had she seen her. They patted her nose and fed her bits of sugar, nubs of carrots, the choicest pieces of peppermint from the jar by the door. She snorted at them, blowing air through her nostrils, and then lifted her head proudly, as if she understood when they called her _brave _and _clever _and _strong, _and thanked her again and again for bringing Father safely home.

Afterward, they trailed back to the house, Nan and William and Mother and Father and Polly and Ben. There was a short, awkward scuffle when Ben reached down to pick Polly up (though she was really getting too old for it) at the same time Father did. Ben stepped back quickly and Polly, to the great relief of all watching, accepted her Father's arms with obvious glee. Then they were gone, the stable door swung shut behind them, and Felicity was blessedly, but for Blossom and Patriot, alone with her horse.

"My fine girl," she murmured, scratching her behind her ears. "Would you like to see your son, eh?" and she opened the gate that ran across her stall. Penny followed her, never more than half a step behind, as she walked over to Patriot and called him forward. He was waiting: he'd smelled his mother when she'd come in, and he gave such a neigh when he saw her that Felicity covered her ears, laughing. Blossom stayed far back in the corner of her stall: but then, that was her way.

It was so easy . . . Felicity stood with the front of her gown pressed up against Penny's warm side, buried her face in Penny's copper-bright mane . . . she traced her fingers up and down the star between Penny's eyes, and whispered praises to her dear one, her own. For those glorious moments, she could pretend that Penny had always been here, with her, and every day had been as good and right as this one.

A finger brushed the back of her neck; Felicity sighed, coming out of her daydream, and lifted her head. "Is it time for supper already?"

"Past time," Ben replied. Something odd caught in his voice, and Felicity turned, questioning. He twitched the corner of his mouth upwards. "You really love that horse," he said.

"I do." Felicity closed her eyes, breathing in Penny's familiar, horsey scent. "I wish—" but it was petty and ungrateful, and she let the thought slide away into unconsciousness.

"So do I," said Ben, and wrapped his arms around Felicity from behind so that they stood all three, man and woman and horse, locked in embrace, and the rumble of wind over the roof-top the only sound.

* * *

Supper that night was a quiet affair, and the parlor afterward quieter. They had all agreed to wait until tomorrow to properly tell everyone (though they knew well enough already, said Mr. Merriman, having watched him ride in), so that Father could rest. And besides, as Polly said when they told her of it, they wanted him all for themselves.

* * *

Felicity woke with a start in the middle of the night, her heart pounding. Foregoing a candle—it would only wake her mother—she pushed her feet into her oldest pair of shoes and padded down the stairs and out to the stable.

He was not screaming: but the light from the neighbor's window caught him sitting up in bed, clutching his shoulders. Felicity crept across the shaky floorboards and took his hands.

"I can see him," said Ben. His eyes glittered in the darkness.

"You're not used to sleeping in this bed," replied Felicity. Then she too was silent.

Once Ben's breathing had gentled somewhat, and the tremors that wracked his body had stilled, Felicity rose from her seat on the mattress. Ben made a noise of protest and squeezed her hands tighter.

"Stay with me," he said. The neighbor had put out his candles, and she could not see him, but his breath was warm against her ear. "Just for tonight." Hurried, because he knew that she should refuse. That he should not ask.

Slow as slow, Felicity settled back down onto the bed. Ben's hands eased slightly, so that they did not begin to pain her, but still held her fast.

They sat.

Then Felicity stirred herself, but not this time to leave. She felt her way to the end of the bed and then across the floor to Ben's chair, from which she took the cushions.

Ben gripped her hand again when she returned. It made laying the cushions difficult, but she didn't mind. The bed creaked as he shifted—the air whispered as he took a breath—but she put her fingers over his lips before he could speak.

"No," she said. "You're still recovering. You've enough troubles without starting again in a strange bed. And you'll not argue me out of this one, Ben Davidson."

His face moved under her palm: he was thinking, looking for something to convince her. "No," she repeated, and pressed down, the tip of her thumb making a dent in his cheek. He hesitated—the bed let out another moan—and then nodded. Before she pulled away he took the quilt from his legs and covered her with it, wrapping it close against the cold. Then he drew her to him and kissed her hard upon the mouth.

"Thank you," she thought he said, but it was too quiet to be sure.

She heard him roll over onto his side, punch the pillow into a more comfortable position: soon the sound of his snoring filled the small room. The thought came to her that perhaps, now that she was back in her father's house (and her father in it), she should consider more carefully her actions . . . ah, but the call of sleep was sweet and strong, and she sank down onto the cushions and into oblivion.

* * *

Her father was waiting for them the next morning, a plate of ham and thickly-sliced bread that Rose must have fixed for him half-eaten before him on the table. Felicity and Ben's arms dropped to their sides, rigid and guilty in the weak January sun.

Mr. Merriman speared a piece of ham on the point of his knife and considered it with an expression of supreme indifference before putting it into his mouth. "Felicity," he said, once he had finished swallowing, "Go up and get dressed."

Felicity handed Ben back his cloak and took the stairs two at a time, shrugging on the first frock that she found. When she rushed back into the kitchen she saw that Ben had hung up the cloak and taken a seat opposite her father. The way they were watching each other put Felicity in mind of the stories she'd heard of jungle-cats, stalking in for the kill. She suppressed a shiver.

Her father stood and pushed his plate away from him. "Your mother, Felicity, has told me some very strange things about the two of you. I can't say that I believe half of them." He drummed his fingers on the back of his chair. "But even if they were entirely true, that does not excuse what I saw this morning, when I looked into Felicity's room and then just now."

"We—" started Felicity, but Mr. Merriman stopped her. "It would not do to upset Rose or Marcus, especially at this hour of the day. This discussion will resume in my study. Immediately." He slid the chair back under the table with excruciating precision and strode from the room. Felicity caught Ben's eye and followed.

He was already stationed behind his desk when they entered, his elbows leaning with deceptive nonchalance between them. He did not offer either of them a seat. They did not ask.

He studied them for a few moments, impersonally, as he would a scratch marking the top of his counter. Then he tapped the first two knuckles of his right hand against his chin and spoke.

"Do not think that I am blind. I have seen the glances, the pauses, the sly smiles when you thought no one was looking. Perhaps not all of them, but enough. I had not wanted to bring it up last night, because I was newly back and did not want to spoil it for your mother and your siblings." The knuckles tapped again. "I see now that that was a mistake. So I'm asking you, _Mr. _Davidson, as I should have the moment you walked through the door. _What are your intentions towards my daughter?"_

"I intend to marry her. Sir." Ben said. He did not look at Felicity, but his fingers tightened around her own.

Felicity's heart shuddered to a halt.

"Is that so?" Mr. Merriman raised his eyebrows, apparently unfazed by the fact that the entire world had just been dumped over onto its side. "And why is that?"

"Because I love her." Ben exhaled, perhaps a touch more noisily than a calm man would. "And I know you won't believe me, but I did nothing I should not have to your daughter last night."

"'Should not have' is a relative term," said Felicity's father, but he appeared slightly mollified. "Leave us for a moment, Mr. Davidson. Do not stray far; I will call for you when I have need of you again."

Ben nodded and left, his back unnaturally straight. The door closed with a thud behind him.

Father sighed and looked down at the papers on his desk, shuffling them into a pile. The stern demeanor seemed to droop from shoulders, slithering to the floor. "Oh, my pretty Lissie. What have you gotten yourself into now?"

When Felicity failed to answer, he pushed the stack of papers to the corner of his desk and raised a piercing gaze. "Felicity," he said. "I am going to ask you some questions. I want you to answer them _true._" He waited until Felicity had expressed her agreement before proceeding.

"What is your opinion on what just transpired?"

Felicity curled her fingers against her skirt. "I . . . don't know."

Her father watched her for a moment more, and then, appearing to come to some decision, rose and walked over to the bookcase that stood against the wall. "You are my first child, Felicity—mine and your mother's. I have always known that one day you would leave us. The thought does not give me joy: far from it. But it has been there. This, however . . ." he shook his head. "I fear that you are hasty in youth. I know that that boy is. It is his nature."

Felicity bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sharp answer. "Perhaps, Father. But he is not the same Ben that ran from you, all those years ago. He knows . . . he has seen . . ." She stopped: that was not her story. As Mrs. Haffner had said, it was a part of _him. _"He would look at that other Ben and think him rude and callow. He _does _think so."

"I see." Father turned and took from the middle shelf a slim volume. He dusted it off. "Do you remember this, Felicity?"

"Why that's . . . that's my first copybook!"

"Aye." Father flipped back the cover. "And look, here is your name." He held it up for her. Felicity moved closer so that she could see it, written in her mother's slanting script. And underneath, shaky and too large, written again in her own. She touched the page; it was smooth and cool. "I was so proud of that."

A very small smile passed across Mr. Merriman's face. "So was I." He closed the book softly and slid it back where it had been before. "Do you love him, Lissie?"

She looked into his eyes and swallowed, seeing the sadness there, the desperate hope, and hating herself for hurting him so. "Aye."

He laid a hand on the bookcase, seeming suddenly, utterly, terribly weary. "Benjamin," he said, loudly enough for Ben to hear. "You may come back in now."

Ben entered, his face blank. His shoes thudded loudly against the floor as he walked up beside Felicity.

Father looked at them both, the silence stretching too long; then the skin around his eyes softened. "Forgive me. This is rather a lot to take in, so soon after arriving." He waved a hand in their general direction. "Very well."

"Father?"

"Sir?"

Now he smiled in earnest, a half-mocking, ironical smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I could intervene, of course, but it seems that would be disastrous to all parties concerned. There is still much reckoning to be had, much discussion, but I suppose that on the whole I have no choice but to give you both my blessing."

Every sense in Felicity's body seemed to leap at his words, before her mind caught up with them—she could hear Nan banging around in the kitchen, smell the scent of hot porridge wafting up the stairway; the folds of her father's neck-cloth gained a new sharpness. She looked at Ben. He seemed dazed.

Mr. Merriman was regarding them with an amused expression. "I must admit, I expected a better reaction than this. Are you not pleased?"

"Oh Father!" Felicity shouted, running forward to hug him. Her father laughed, embracing her in turn, and then stepped back.

"I daresay your mother will have my head if I keep her waiting any longer. She's been hinting mightily at me from the instant I got home. What are you standing around for? Begone with you!" He pushed them towards the door. "And, Ben," he added, when they were almost outside, "After you have finished getting congratulated, come back up here. I believe that—under the circumstances and considering the reports I've heard of the past months—we have a certain matter of business to discuss."

Ben looked at him, unsure of his meaning; Mr. Merriman picked a paper out of the pile on his desk. "There are cases when a contract is changed. You have already, as I recall, experienced one to your advantage. It seems the rules of your apprenticeship were doomed from the moment they were written, and as it is the case that you appear to have been running my store as much as my daughter has for the past two years, I cannot reasonably claim that you are unfit to run your own." The edges of his eyes crinkled. "Provided that my daughter helps you, of course."

"Thank you, Sir!" said Ben when he had found his voice. "I . . ."

"I had been planning to do it anyway," said Mr. Merriman. "Well, go on!" Ben, beaming now, stepped out into the hallway. Still Felicity lingered. She had the feeling she wanted to say something, but she had no idea what.

"Thank you," she said at last. The words sounded miserly in her ears, but she could not think of anything else. She blushed at the shame of it, and at the part of her that pulled her towards the doorway, towards Ben, even as she stood before her father.

"He is a good man," Father said. There was a wryness in his tone, and she could see now that he _was_ happy for her, however much he wished that she did not have to leave.

"Felicity?" called Ben, and, with an appreciative peck to her father's cheek, Felicity stepped out into the hallway. Ben looked at her but did not inquire after what had occurred.

"Are you ready?" he asked, reaching out a hand. Felicity took it and sidled closer, so that she could rest her head on the curve where his arm became his shoulder.

"Will you be with me?"

"Always," he said. "And you?"

"Always," she echoed, and lifted herself up to seal the promise with a kiss.

.

**Man! Except for the whole . . . you know . . . Ben's got it goood. He coerces the guy's daughter into sleeping in his bedroom, doesn't show a bit of remorse for it, and not only gets the girl's hand in marriage but gets told he's completed his apprenticeship with flying colors.**


	20. Epilogue

Epilogue

There is music, but he does not hear it, though not three paces behind him sweat glistens over bow and piping flute. His collar itches, his toes are pinched, and the carpenter's son is glaring at him from the second row, but there is sunlight in her hair and flowers in her arms and she is looking at him and she is smiling.

They are not the same as they were, when she was a child and he was little more. Too are they different from the young man who leaned against a fencepost, terrified to say hello, or the flour-covered woman who ran to greet him. They have grown and they have shifted—together and apart and together. But there is one thing that is the same, from when he turned his soldier's eyes to her on that morning and when he turns his bridegroom's eyes upon her now:

She is still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.


End file.
